


The Tower

by BlackKite7



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Blood, Blood and Violence, Brawling, Choking, Confinement, Drugged Sex, Eventual Smut, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Self Harm, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Solitary Confinement, mild biting and hair tugging, more from DA2 cast and others as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKite7/pseuds/BlackKite7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>[discontinued until further notice]</b><br/>Anders has made a lot of mistakes in his life. Most of them he can safely say he regrets; he was young, foolish, rebellious, high on his own sense of self-worth and defiance. But the biggest mistakes - the ones that got him sent to the Tower - those he doesn't regret. He has accepted the price for the things he has done.</p><p>But the longer he stays in the Tower, the more he begins to doubt his chances of survival.</p><p>After all, more people die within those halls than there are people waiting on death row.</p><p> </p><p>Tags will be updated as the story progresses. I want to make it clear there will be no non-con between Anders and Fenris and I have no intent to depict them in any such way, (non-graphic) non-con is referenced from canon instances. Original headcanons/AU concept by anderfeelsy/cyanopsis on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Got a sudden urge (and later permission booyah) to write a thing after seeing this post on tumblr http://anderfeelsy.tumblr.com/post/116360925405/jail-fenders because the world needs more fenders and it sure as hell needs more Jail!Fenders.

They call it the Tower.

At least, that’s what they call it on the inside. To the rest of Thedas, it’s just another high security penitentiary. The Kirkwall Circle Tower is home to a variety of people, from petty drug peddlers all the way up to gang leaders. It’s located in a place called the Gallows; with high concrete walls that that do very little to hide the impressive towers that are built to house the prisoners. A fitting name, as very now and then, an execution takes place. Not that this is made a public show, though it had been once upon a time – hence the name. In truth, more people have died inside the walls of the Tower than there have been people on the death-row list.

The walls of the Gallows served as another barrier to keep the outside world away and the prisoners inside. The system had learned very early on from attempted escapes how to go about ensuring no one got out. That being said, no one got in without extensive permission from the commanding warden, Meredith. A decorated officer with a record for having kept Kirkwall’s streets clean for almost two decades. Recently, she resigned from her post to take up the vacant warden position. Having locked up most of the criminals there herself in her youth, she took it upon herself to see to their _rehabilitation_.

Anders wanted to throw up just knowing he would have to see her almighty self soon. His stomach lurched at the reminder that he’d have to listen to her yap about him being the scum of society and how his existence was a detriment to the peace she worked so hard for.

_Blah, blah, blah…_

The handcuffs on his wrists dug deep into his skin. Any tighter and a good jerk might just break the skin.

He sat with his head leaned against the window of the armoured shuttle bus that had been sent to escort him and several other criminals from the local holding bays. The world he knew vanished as the bus crossed the threshold of the outer gate and slammed shut when they were completely inside.

That sound made it official.

Whatever life he had before was over.

He was the property of the Tower now.

After being herded off the shuttle bus, Anders was marched into the prison, guards glaring at him with judgemental eyes with each checkpoint he passed. At the first guard tower, he had been strip searched – and then again at the second, just in case someone smuggled anything in to him. They almost seemed disappointed when he had nothing on – or in – him.

When the guards were certain he had nothing on him that was not allowed – which was technically anything aside the clothes on his back – he was escorted through the yard, where a whole new set of eyes would fall on him. Except they weren’t eyes of judgement. No sir, those eyes scrutinised him; the prisoners who huddled around in small groups and clichés smirked and hooted as Anders and several other new inmates were paraded across the barely grassed recreational zone. For a brief moment, he wondered what kinds of labels they were trying to apply to him and the others. Murderer? Thief? Rapist?

Only a few guess pyromaniac, and that’s only because they have enough smarts to recognise the faded scars on his hands from burns.

He’d done more than set a few fires in his short lifetime. The last one, the one he was caught for, was the infamous Courthouse Burning – coined by the media. It tells the story of how Anders, a misguided and psychologically troubled young man set fire to the building in a lapsed state of mind. This was also the story his lawyer had been able to peddle in order to get him a lighter sentence – whatever good that did him.

But that’s all it was: a story.

“Move it.” A rough shove to his back sent Anders tumbling forward, but he promptly regained his footing and straightened, glaring over his shoulder at the guard that was practically daring him to try something. Anders cursed under his breath quietly and turned his head, walking on with the others until they reached a building within the high walled compound.

There, the handcuffs were removed, and he sighed in relief as he rubbed his wrists. He looked around uncertainly for a moment, as did the others, and they were ordered to line up against the wall opposite what looked like some kind of storage room. Inside there were men sorting items intended for them. Anders followed suit with the others sluggishly, his eyes wandering curiously, taking in the sights of the sterile prison. After a brief moment, they were told about the process they would undergo. They would approach the room one by one, be handed a spare uniform to wear in between washes, and then sent down a hallway into the cell blocks to get aquatinted with their friendly new neighbours.

When his turn came, Anders looked at the dull, dark grey uniforms and was told by the inmate handing them to him that he was in cell forty-two, and an impatient prompt from the guard saw that Anders would shuffle off in the foulest of moods.

“Good luck, newbie.” The tattooed prisoner called, as he had with everyone so far, when Anders walked away. It was probably the nicest greeting he was going to get in the Circle.

And he was right.

Upon approaching his cell – after passing what could have been a legion of guards – he was a little surprised at his cellmate. A lean frame, although certainly muscled, that was not hidden by the uniform, and white hair, either dyed or natural he did not know, and sharp ears that gave a clear indication of his heritage.

An elf.

Inwardly, Anders hoped he wasn’t one of those so called Dalish – the superstitious renegades living on the fringe of society. He certainly had enough tattoos to match his imagination of the people; faded blue and extending in various patterns down his arms, and very likely along his chest given that he could also see the tattoos branching up his neck and under his chin.

Anders had obviously been staring for too long, or maybe he’d just standing in the doorway too awkwardly for his cellmate’s taste, and the elf tilted his head and glared up at him from his seat on his bed, as if Anders were a trespasser.

“What?” The inmate’s voice was low and dripping with animosity. Anders knew immediately he was more likely to get shanked than to become friends with that man.

But he wasn’t going to be weak in here, and he certainly wasn’t going to take any attitude from someone like him.

“Sorry, didn’t want to intrude on your whole brooding atmosphere in there.” A crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as Anders spoke. He obviously sounded a little too smug for the elf, who stood and crossed the short distance between his cot and the barred doorway. Anders resisted the instinct to step back, but the elf wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

In the split second before the elf shoved him out of his path, the intensity of those eyes fell on him. Light green, flecked with dark hues around the pupil, and more importantly, a coldness that sent a shiver up his spine. A calloused hand landed on his chest before he could raise his arms to defend himself, and was pushed aside with more force than he thought the thin elf capable of. The sound of his back slamming against the barred doorway resounded and caught the attention of others standing near by, who all but froze to watch in confusion and anticipation.

“Watch your attitude.” Were the icy words the elf spat as he left the cell, leaving Anders leaning against the barred doorway and a sharp pain radiating from his spine after having collided with it. Looking around, he took note of the humorous smirks being sent his way, and the wary eyes following after the elf.

“Good job, Blondie.” A deep voice sounded and Anders turned his head to stare at the person who had suddenly materialised beside him. The man was broad and _built_ , with a snarky smirk but he had an unusually welcoming air about him. “You’ve only been here – what – five minutes? And you’ve already managed to piss him off. Usually takes an hour at most. But I guess I have to give you points for still being _alive_ after meeting him.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Anders straightened, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the bearded man next to him. The man reeled back slightly, looking as though he had forgotten something important.

“Ah…right, right. Names Garrett, but everyone calls me Hawke, so you will as well.” The man – Hawke – established himself and turned his gaze away from Anders, pointing down the hall at the still retreating figure of the elf. “And that’s your cellmate, Fenris. Try not to piss him off. Again.”

“Fenris? What kind of name is that?” Anders gave Hawke a questioning look.

“He’s the _Little Wolf_ of the Tower.” Hawke’s light tone dropped slightly as he announced the title. “Watch your step, Blondie. He’s been here a long time, and he’s not getting out in this lifetime.”

“What’d he do? Kill some people?” Anders had just about a million questions, but one sharp look from Hawke said that he _really_ shouldn’t be asking. Not yet, at least.

“If you last more than a few days, maybe you’ll find out.” Hawke tapped his arm and ushered him to put his things down on his assigned bed. “Come on, newbie’s get a tour and then a lecture from the warden. Fun all around, trust me. I’d go back if they let me. Can’t get enough of having some witch-hunter call me a piece of trash.”

Not wanting to risk being throttled by a man who looked like he could snap someone neck with one arm, Anders tossed the spare clothes he’d been given onto the bed that he guessed was his – as the elf had been occupying the other earlier – and followed Hawke down the hallway.

Hawke’s _tour_ as he called it was just that. Hawke led Anders and the new inmates – those that had turned up at least – around the facility under the careful watch of guards who seemed to take a little too much pleasure in watching the newbie’s fumble and squirm. One of the main points of Hawke’s tour was an alert as to ‘ _who you don’t want to fuck with’_. The list was seemingly endless, and was not restricted to the prisoners alone. Hawke warned them especially of one of the guard-captains, a fiery woman named Aveline. While reasonable at times, Hawke explained she had no trouble beating the arse of anyone causing trouble on her watch. There were other names, one of them Alrik he thought, but Anders’ attention was slipping the more the list droned on.

As the welcome party drew to a close, Hawke ushered the new inmates towards a hallway where a few guards were standing at the ready to escort them to Meredith’s induction. Hawke had been kind enough to give them a heads up on what they expected, which was less than thrilling and more mind-numbingly boring, with a heavy application of colourful threats and labels for them. None of which they hadn’t expected, but were still reluctant about hearing nonetheless.

As Anders was walking with the group, almost all of whom grumbled under their breath about the whole ‘being in prison’ crap and how they shouldn’t be in this hellhole, Hawke called out to him – playfully as _Blondie_ no less, a nickname he was certain would stick whether he wanted it to or not. Turning, he saw Hawke crossing his arms with a mirthful smirk on his face.

“Welcome to the Tower. Try not to die.”

Anders then realised, as bad as he thought this place was, he had yet to truly experience all that the Tower had to offer.


	2. Blood Bets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out this amazing little art-diddy that cyanopsis/anderfeelsy did on tumblr for this chapter it's absolute perfection <3 http://cyanopsis.tumblr.com/post/116618034227/jail-fenders-p-2

Hawke loved Wednesday’s. The wardens and guards often had these ridiculous social parties just for them where they got catering and decent coffee, and happy wardens means less prisoners getting tased.

For Hawke, Wednesday meant that it was his visitation day – as arranged by his lawyer. Part of his plea-bargain deal meant that every Wednesday he was allowed extended visitation rights, though only by an extra ten minutes. Still, that meant an extra ten minutes with his family and friends.

Despite the things he had done, what had got him in the Tower; Hawke was quite the softie when it came to his loved ones.

That being said, he didn’t have any qualms about arranging things from the inside when they were having trouble. Not that they needed to know about that of course. Carver didn’t visit as much as he wanted to, but Hawke insisted that his younger sibling attend to his studies. There were a few others that visited him from time to time, people from back in the day in Ferelden – before things went south – and some associates of the gang he was affiliated with in Kirkwall, giving him updates about what was going on in the Free Marches and in their territory.

But Varric was always there. Even if he had to wait for others to finish their quick chats with Hawke before getting to see his long-standing friend.

Varric Tethras; author, businessman, and on the side, a bookie. He had an aptitude for manipulating people to suit his needs. Not to mention he had eyes and ears just about everywhere, which made their joint operation less likely to go up in flames.

Their conversations always started out the same however. Always the same question, but it made Hawke smile. However casually Varric asked him it, he knew it was more than a simple question. Varric was worried in his own way.

Hawke’s being in prison was partly his fault, after all.

“So, how are things on the inside?” The light-hearted question was filled with eagerness and a hint of concern. Hawke always had good stories to tell. Not a day went by when things were boring, and things had been _lively_ recently.

“Never a dull moment.” Hawke mused and grinned, already knowing what he would say. “Bunch of new inmates came in yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? Any of them dead yet?” Varric leaned forward in his seat a little, ready for the grand tale. Though he wasn’t as eloquent as Varric, Hawke still managed.

“Not yet, not yet. One of them might be soon though.” Hawke launched into what had happened the day before, about how the blonde pyromaniac already had a foot in the grave after his meeting with Fenris. “Fenris threw the guy’s cot out into the hall of the cell block just before lockdown. Blondie’s stuck sleeping on this thin-mattress thing on the floor, it’s hilarious.”

“You’re joking.” Varric laughed, unsure if Hawke was pulling the wool over his eyes. If not, the new guy was beyond stupid. Hawke had told him just about everything he needed to know about the Tower’s wolf, and he knew even more after having dug around a little himself. Messing with that elf, after everything he’d been through and done, was just asking for trouble.

“Nope. But, Blondie still yet lives.” Hawke’s shit eating grin was taking over his face as he stopped himself laughing.

“How about a friendly wager then?” Varric asked with a knowing look in his eyes. “Ten sovereigns he doesn’t last a week in this place. Sound fair?”

“It does, but I’m not taking that bet. Chances are you’ll win.”

The small room that they were permitted to speak in was filled with laughter after those words. The rest of the visitation spent in idle chatter, Varric vaguely updating Hawke about their operations, and telling him he was looking after his family and everyone else. Apparently Carver was getting angsty about everything under the sun. To anyone else this would have been a cause for concern, but for Hawke, it just let him know that Carver was the same as always. Hearing that everyone was well – as well as could be at least – always filled him with a sense of relief.

By the end of the visitation, rudely interrupted by a guard saying time is up and glaring at them both, they had little else to say. After a lengthy goodbye and ‘ _see you next week_ ’, Varric was escorted out, and Hawke was returned to the cell block.

He wandered aimlessly for a few moments, considering what little he could do until lockdown that evening, when something caught his attention.

A loud bang; the sound of something striking plastic and metal being dragged across the floor, followed by shouting and cheering coming from the cafeteria.

A fight, and it wasn’t even mid-afternoon.

A few inmates near him grinned as they raced to the area, eager to see the damage done before the guards broke up the fight, and Hawke followed suit. Inmates were already racing through the open double doors to get a good seat for the show, and Hawke pushed his way forward, but halted when he saw the scene in front of him.

Blondie was pinned on the ground, with a very large and _very_ pissed off inmate straddling him, on the verge of being strangled to death.

Not that he wasn’t putting up a good fight though. With a closed, already bloodied fist, he was pummelling the side of his attacker’s face, blood dripping from their face and onto Anders’ slightly torn prison uniform. Anders gasped in pain every so often when the inmate above him squeezed harder on his neck, desperate to force his windpipe shut. But he continued to beat against the inmate’s side, hammering his body, digging his fingers into his arms and ripping the skin; doing all that he could as droplets of blood landed on his face and dripped down his skin.

“What happened?” Hawke asked the air, uncaring who answered him. He knew someone would.

“Smartass here tried to throw the blonde bitch over a table.” A rough, but highly amused, voice answered not far away. “Blondie didn’t like that.’

The crowd of inmates gathering cheered and baited the two fighters, eager to see them brawl until one was either unconscious or dead. Every second the inmate spent above Anders was a second closer the blonde became closer to deaths door. The inmate himself was grunting and yelling, cursing Anders with heavy breaths. Hawke watched as for a brief moment, Anders’ body slackened, yielding as he started to succumb to a loss of oxygen, the corners of his vision darkening and blurring when his eyes started to water.

But then, with a sudden striking movement, Anders had thrown enough weight into one more punch to knock his attacker off balance. The hands around his neck loosened as the inmate reeled back from a punch to the left side of his jaw, a loud cracking noise echoing with it. Anders didn’t waste another moment as he shifted himself under the man, throwing a finale jab to knock him back while desperately gasping for air.

By the time the inmate’s back had hit the ground, he had been rendered unconscious by at least three hard hits to the skull. Blood spilled down his nose and his lips, but that did not deter him from getting back on his feet, taking in shallow breathes as he stumbled. Anders was quick to scramble to his feet, swaying as his weight shifted unevenly, and with eyes full of malice, raised himself higher and reeled around to kick the inmate while he was down, as if to be certain he wouldn’t get up and try to throw his hands all over him again.

He was ready too as well, until the guards managed to push through the crowd and struck him on the back of the head with a thick baton, sending him crashing back down and cradling his head. The world spun as his vision blurred, and Anders saw nothing more than hazy movements and heard no more than muffled yelling; his senses utterly disrupted in that moment.

The inmates booed as the guards ordered them to back away, more of them arriving to herd everyone back to the cell block. Hawke watched as Anders was hauled to his feet, face bloodied and his uniform torn at the collar from having been yanked on with too much force. He was quickly restrained and dragged off, likely to be interrogated about what had just happened – and maybe even patched up if he cooperated.

Hawke took one last look at the inmate rolling on the ground, having regained his consciousness just a little, and could not help but smile a little when the guards began to give him the same treatment they had Anders.

Maybe he had underestimated Blondie a little.

“Should’ve accepted the bet after all…” He mumbled to himself as he slipped out of the cafeteria before some guard tried to thrash him for not leaving sooner.

Anders may yet survive the Tower.

 

* * *

 

Everything being said to him in that moment went in one ear and out the other. Anders stared down at his hands, the bandages slightly spotted with blood in a few places. Maybe he was still in shock, or the adrenaline had yet to leave his system, but he felt little pain in his body – he just felt numb.

‘ _How long is this jackass going to talk for?_ ’

Lifting his eyes ever so slightly, he looked around the office he was sitting it. Everything was neat and orderly, well lit and organised. For a brief moment, he felt like he wasn’t even in prison. On the wall near the door were some of those pretty inspirational posters that had mottos on it such as ‘ _the Maker loves you_ ’ and other Chantry drivel. Looking at them was an eyesore.

After the brawl, he’d been carted off to get the blood wiped off his face and his knuckles patched up. He’d torn open the skin thrashing the asshole with the wandering hands. He really hadn’t been in the mood for that while trying to get his lunch.

“-you understand what I’m saying, Anders?” Anders just barely registered he was being asked a question. Shifting his gaze, he stared at one of the Tower’s few priests. When he had been told that the penitentiary priest had asked to speak to him in place of one of the wardens on staff, he had expected some wrinkly revered mother to ask him to beg forgiveness from the Maker. Instead, he got this princely looking priest of a man with pretty blue eyes and high cheekbones lecturing him about _orderly conduct_ and how the Maker loves everyone despite being a walking maniac.

Anders wondered if it was some kind of joke.

“Anders?” The priest – Sebastian, or Mr.Vael, he reminded himself – looked at him more earnestly, waiting for Anders’ reply.

“Sorry, wasn’t listening.” He said curtly, and the polite smile on Sebastian’s face became somewhat strained. “Are you sure you’re a priest?”

“I am. Are you surprised? There are many brothers in the Chantry.” Sebastian’s reply was a civil as could be, despite a slight annoyed edge from having been ignored moments prior.

“Yeah, but they’re generally old men and not working in prisons.” Anders laughed a little and began to smirk. “What’s a pretty choir boy doing working in the Tower?”

“E-even though there are some that have shunned the Maker’s graces, the people here still deserve to be reminded that He cares for them.” Despite being momentarily flustered by comment, Sebastian was quick to offer the reply.

“Well unless you want a blowjob, I’d like to leave, because I couldn’t give two shits about the Maker or His graces.” The cunning smirk on Anders’ face only grew as he watched Sebastian squirm, quite clearly embarrassed by his forwardness.

“I think that’s all for today. You can go.” Sebastian cleared his throat quickly and shifted in his seat, noticeably uncomfortable by the way Anders was looking at him.

“Pity.” Anders murmured and winked at the man as he stood and made his way to the door. He was no stranger to such brazen flirting, and he had more than a little fun ruffling the feathers of _Mr. Vael_. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to listen to him babble anymore, not that he had been listening in the first place.

He lingered in the hallway for a moment, trying to get his bearings, and sauntered off to find his cell block. He felt like taking a nap, but wondered if that were a wise course of action given the fact there were more in-prison deaths than there were actual executions in the Tower. He had just walked away from a brawl – barely, in fact. He was entirely unsure what kind of response that would warrant from his fellow inmates.

Not to mention his damn cellmate.

Remembering the broody elf only soured his mood further.

He dreaded returning to the cell, but he wanted to lie down on his crappy mattress on the floor and relax. The more he walked, the more he began to feel the unknown aches in his body, and his throat was undeniably sore. He was surprised he could breathe as easily as he did, though his voice was a little hoarse when he had spoken earlier. Hours ago, he had been seconds away from having his windpipe crushed.

He hadn’t been in a brawl like that in a damn long time.

Inmates whispered when he passed, smirking at him. One or two of them greeted him openly. Apparently getting into a fight in the Tower was one of the easiest ways to get recognised – and accepted, however meagrely. Someone even congratulated him on knocking his attacker out, saying what a shame he hadn’t been able to put the bastard down permanently before the guards intervened. Despite having wanted to kill the man earlier, Anders was less than eager to share that detail. He was disturbed by it enough himself that he had lashed out the way he had.

His cell block was relatively quiet, as most inmates were likely lounging around the recreational area. The majority of them tried to stay outdoors as much as possible, especially with lockdown only an hour or two off. Anders hesitantly peeked into his cell, and seeing that it was empty, sighed in relief.

Last night, he’d had a very…unpleasant awakening in the middle of the night. After Fenris had thrown out his cot – which had mysteriously already been carted out of the cell block to his annoyance – he’d been awoken in the middle of the night by a heavy weight on his chest. Fenris had seated himself on him, pinning him down, and in the whispered to him in the darkest of voices that if he ever spoke to him the way he had earlier, he would rip open his chest and cut out his beating heart.

He wasn’t eager to see his cellmate after that, and had thus far been able to avoid him.

Or so he thought, because as soon as he sat down on his thin mattress, a shadow appeared in the door. Anders jumped a little as Fenris waltzed into the cell, his eyes landing on Anders; taking in the sight of his already bruising neck and the dried blood that had been hastily washed off his face.

“Idiot.” Was all Fenris said as he tossed something into Anders lap. However short the elf’s insults were, they still cut just as deep simply due to that uncaring, belligerent tone. Anders caught the bundle quickly, worrying for a moment that he might see some kind of gift in the form of a dead rat, but was surprised to see a piece of clothing neatly rolled up. An orange uniform, like the others inmates had, light and short-sleeved for the summer months. The grey ones were for the first day or two – but since he had already ruined his, Fenris had been told to hand them over since they were friendly cellmates and all.

Anders was still worried there may in fact be a dead rat hidden in the rolled up jumpsuit though. Not that he’d say as much in front of the elf glaring at him so viciously.

He bit back whatever snarky remarks were stewing in his mind. He _really_ didn’t want another midnight death threat. It had become all too apparent after that that Fenris, as Hawke had so tactfully said the day prior, was not someone to fuck with.

And he had already crossed that line.

With a brief thanks under his breath, Anders put the rolled up jumpsuit on the mattress beside him and lay back, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he heard the sound of bare feet softly padding across the floor, headed to the doorway.

“Oi.” Anders’ attention was raised by the sound of that deep voice calling out to him, and he sat up slightly to look at the elf standing in the doorway. He was annoyed at himself for having responded so quickly. “If you bring any drama back to my cell, I _will_ kill you.”

“Got it.” Anders said quickly, and leaned his head back until the elf was lingering in the corner of his eye.

He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until Fenris left the cell and disappeared entirely. The fact that the elf was so quiet and yet so damned menacing made being around him all the more suffocating. Fenris had made it quite clear in what little conversation they had had that Anders was an eyesore that could very easily be removed.

He’d only been in the Tower for two days, and already he was on someone’s shit-list _and_ had gotten into a brawl.

As he slowly began to fall asleep, there was but one thought that continuously emerged in this mind.

‘ _Fuck…_ ’


	3. Watchful Eyes

If there was one rule of thumb Anders was going to abide by in the Tower, it was this: shower _early_.

According to Hawke, the inmates most likely to rape someone against the shower walls preferred to do so in the evening when most of the wardens were sleepy and turning a blind eye to things as they waited for shift relief. After his fray the day before, he didn’t want to deal with another inmate groping him, and so chose to heed Hawke’s warning.

And it paid off. Aside from a few stares that he wasn’t unused to, and one or two compliments about the roundness of his arse – _that_ he was unused to – he was able to shower in peace, taking solace in the feeling of the warm water dripping down his body in the tiny showering-cubicle. His body ached terribly so, even the slightest shift in his weight made him wince from a sharp pain in his back from his first encounter with Fenris, made worse from the brawl. His hands were still raw, and he was careful while washing to avoid breaking the skin even more.

But it wasn’t until he was standing half dressed before the slightly streamed up mirrors that he realised something far more important.

The ring of bruises around his neck.

His throat had been understandably sore that morning when he woke up, but he didn’t expect the bruises to be so dark, or so numerous. He tilted his head up slightly to catch more of the fluorescent light on his neck, tracing the marks of indented fingertips marring his flesh. The bruises were purple and black, and he winced when he applied even the softest pressure to them. He knew they were fade after a few days. Until then, he’d have to wear them no differently than he wore the orange prison jumpsuits.

With a silent disdain and itchy-feeling.

“Morning Blondie!” A rough slap on the back made Anders’ press against the sink, his back arching out of reflex. He groaned and turned, fixing an annoyed glare on the perpetrator.

“Morning…” He answered in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat after speaking and tried again to sound more coherent but to no avail. It was the first time he’d spoken that morning. He hoped his voice wouldn’t be that bad, but surprise, surprise – it was. Hawke, however, gave him a warm smile as he leaned his hip on the sink. He tilted his head to look at Anders’ neck and let out a short whistle.

“Fuck Blondie, he did a number on you.” Hawke said as he lifted both brows. They lowered not long after as that classic grin took over his features. “Then again, you knocked him out for a moment, so I guess you did a number on him too.”

“You know what they say, payback’s a bitch.” Anders mused as best he could and matched Hawke’s grin. His comment earned him a generous laugh in turn. For whatever reason, be it some kind of natural charm or openness, Hawke was infinitely more approachable than the vast majority of the inmates in the prison, and Anders felt lucky that he hadn’t been able to magically piss him off as well.

One shit-list was more than enough for him. And just his luck, he had to be on the worst one possible in the Tower.

“You should go see the physician, just in case. She’s a bit…well, better to go check and make sure there’s not too much damage.” Hawke hesitated to elaborate on the physician but that didn’t stop him from grinning.

“She? The person who patched me up yesterday was a man though…” Anders gave him a sceptical look and Hawke nodded.

“There are a few staff on board, you lucked out yesterday with the roster. Still, go in. She might be able to give you something for your throat.” Hawke’s persisted until Anders agreed to go see the physician. Anders took his time to slip a form fitting tank top on in an effort not to strain his muscles and adjusted the orange jumpsuit of his to sit comfortably around his waist. He left the showering area with Hawke following behind him and muttering something about showing him the way before going to get something to eat.

They walked slowly, chatting idly as they wandered the near empty halls in the early hours of the morning. Light streamed down in rows from the barred windows onto the white floors, making the hallway glow ever so slightly.

It was strange. Speaking so casually about the worst tasting coffee they had ever had and a want for some colder weather with a supposed heatwave on the horizon…

He hadn’t had such a simple conversation in a while, and the memories of those times when he had still stung with an old ache he thought was dull by this time.

When they reached a small directory area with a few wardens standing watch, Hawke pointed Anders in the direction of the clinic to refresh his memory. After a brief goodbye, Hawke turned away to head to the cafeteria, but paused after a few steps and turned back, calling out to Anders who was already walking in the other direction.

“Ah, hold on a moment!” Anders turned at the sound of Hawke’s voice, and Hawke had already closed the distance, standing no further away than he had moments ago.

“What’s wrong? Did you think of something funny to say too late?” Anders couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth, and although he got a brief smile from Hawke, it was just that.

A brief one.

“No, not this time. I wanted to pass along a warning.” Hawke’s friendly tone from earlier had dropped a little. It wasn’t threatening in any way, but it had an edge to it that made Anders’ stomach clench unpleasantly. “Your little scuffle yesterday didn’t go unnoticed, obviously. I’m not saying you’ll get in trouble, so don’t look so panicked. If everyone got in trouble for every little fight, we’d all be in permanent lockdown.”

“So, what’s the issue then?” Anders shifted his weight from foot to foot, a little uneasy all of a sudden. If it warranted a warning…he wasn’t sure he wanted to know after a moment’s consideration.

“Just…try to avoid fighting, if you can. It’s better that way. They may not give out daily reprimands, but the wardens keep extensive records. And there are certain people here you _don’t_ want watching you.” Hawke spoke in almost a whisper, clearly not wanting his words to be overheard by a pair of guards lingering in the area, however absorbed they were in conversation. “Take it easy, for your sake, ‘kay?”

“Got it.” Anders nodded several times and ran a hand through his damp hair, sighing slightly. “Thanks for the warning, Hawke.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Hawke’s easy going nature re-emerged and he tapped Anders’ arm gently. “Never hurts to have a decent fighter on your good side.”

With a cheeky wink, Hawke chuckled and spun on his heel, waving over his shoulder and reminding Anders to be quick lest he get stuck waiting in a long breakfast line in the cafeteria. Anders couldn’t help but laugh a little, and immediately stopped as it pained him to do so, his throat flaring up in revolt of the act. Turning, he continued his course and headed to the prison’s infirmary area.

With Hawke’s warning fresh in his mind, Anders walked with his head a little lower than he usually would. There were hardly any inmates in this area, but the guards were still on routine patrols. When he reached the area the clinic was located, Anders was instructed by an administrator to take a seat to wait until the physician arrived, as the last one on the roster had already left.

He waited patiently, twiddling his thumbs and counting the tick-tocks from the clock that echoed in the open space, until he heard the sound of a feminine voice down the hallway. Despite the distance, he could tell simply by the tone of her voice she was utterly unimpressed by whoever she was speaking with.

“-I will not tell you again. If you think for even half a second I would willinglywaste my time at whatever… _thing_ you have arranged, you are mistaken.”

“You know, you really should attend Morrigan. It would be good to get to know your colleagues better.”

“It would also be good if that priest from Starkhaven would stop calling me a blasphemous witch every chance he got, but living in reality and all, that isn’t going to happen. So leave, before the urge to shove my pen through your eye socket intensifies.”

Anders could hear the sound of feet scuttling in retreat, and suddenly a silhouette appeared in the corner of his eye. He turned his gaze, looking up at the figure that froze once their eyes connected. ‘ _This must be the woman Hawke mentioned…_ ’ Anders thought automatically as he looked at her. Morrigan, if he could trust the unknown figure who had addressed her by that name. She was a beautiful woman, fair skinned, short dark hair that was tied up into a messy bun, and striking honey-golden eyes that pierced through him. He could almost feel himself sinking into his seat as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“It’s not even seven in the morning and someone is already here. My luck, evidently, persists. What foolish thing have you done that warrants my attention?” The physician spoke quickly as she walked past him to unlock the door to the one of the clinic’s private examination rooms. Anders stood to wait behind her.

“I uh…was in a fight yesterday and…” He fumbled with his words and fell silent just as her gaze fell on him once more. Noticing the bruises on his neck, her brows furrowed together and she sighed.

“Unbelievable. Do the guards here do nothing but drool on themselves?” Morrigan spat the words out as she unlocked the door and ushered him to enter after her.

Resisting the temptation to laugh at her remark, Anders merely reigned in the smirk threatening to split his face in half. He did as he was bid, and promptly took a seat on the examination bed that she waved him over to. After setting her things down, Morrigan pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before looking through cabinets for tools and what looked like a small box of equipment.

She gave him a series of quick orders and began her examination. After checking that were no extreme contusions in his windpipe, she quickly although carefully applied a cream to the skin of his neck, explaining that it would ease any pain in the muscles and ensure the bruises faded quickly. Morrigan finished her swift examination by applying a bandage to his neck that could be removed at his discretion and giving him a small aspirin to numb the immediate pain.

“Go now, and if I see you again, be assured you will be leaving in a body bag.” Morrigan quickly hurried him out of the door and closed it behind him, and Anders could overhear the sound of her mumbling on the other side of it.

Shaking his head a little in mere disbelief of her bluntness, he turned heel and retraced his steps to return to the main sector of the prison he resided in. Softly, he touched the bandages on his neck and sighed lightly. At least, for a little while, the bruises would not be on display.

After a moment, a light chuckle escaped his lips and a bittersweet smile came across his face.

He couldn’t say things were dull in the Tower.

 

* * *

 

It had been almost a week since Anders’ little slip up in the cafeteria, and Fenris was taking advantage of the peace that he had been allowed in that time. Since his early warnings, the blonde had been adept at avoiding him all together aside from the brief moments they shared in their cell together. From time to time he made a snarky remark, and the two would engage in a brief banter before Fenris would tactfully warn the blonde about his boundaries. Occasionally he would hear his cellmate grumbling to himself about something trivial or other when they were in their cell together, but a swift glare from him always silenced the blonde.

At least he was learning.

The late afternoon weather outside was warmer than usual, and Fenris could feel a layer of sweat forming on his tattooed flesh even as he lay under the shade of one of the few trees in the outdoor recreational zone.

What was worse, the high concrete walls denied them of a proper breeze that would take some of the heat off, leaving the inmates to stew and be agitated more than normal.

Fenris did not mind so much however. During his time in Seheron, he had gotten used to the humidity of the island nation, and as such was not so troubled by such heat. Beside him sat Hawke, leaning against the tree trunk as he spoke with some associates that Fenris did not know the names of nor did he care to.

Hawke’s business was Hawke’s business.

Fenris had been one of the first people Hawke had gotten to know in the Tower, and despite a rocky start, they had both proven to be a loyal and invaluable friend to one another.

“Let me know how things develop.” Hawke nodded to the two men standing in front of him, who eagerly said goodbye and began to wander the yard, intent to slyly do whatever had been asked of them.

“Still doing the beardless dwarf’s business?” Fenris asked without looking in Hawke’s direction, content to merely stare up at the listlessly rustling tree leaves above him.

“Did I ever stop?” Hawke threw a question back at him as a deep chuckle made his chest rumble, and the corners of Fenris’ mouth twitched as he resisted a smile. “So, are you still pissed at Blondie?”

“I am not _pissed_ at anyone, Hawke.” Fenris’ reply was curt. If he were about to smile before he certainly wasn’t going to anymore.

“Then why is his cot at the metal workshop?”

“It is hardly any of my business where it ended up after I put it in the hall. It’s his fault for not having collected it.”

“Blondie doesn’t even know there _is_ a metal workshop.”

“A shame. He will continue to sleep on the floor in that case.”

Hawke let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his forehead lightly. Fenris made a distasteful grunting noise under his breath as he sat up, turning his body a little to face Hawke.

“Why the interest in him? Do you intend to have me hold his hand so long as he is my cellmate?” Fenris raised a brow in curiosity. Hawke had never had a qualm about how he had handled the others who had managed to step on his nerves. In fact, Hawke had often taken great pleasure in seeing him oust some of the lower-than-lowlifes that he had been grouped with. He was more than a little surprised when Hawke was silent for a moment, as if contemplating his own intentions.

“Not sure. I might have a use for him, but for now…well, at least give him back the cot.” Hawke smiled at Fenris but received only a grumble in response as the elf stood and dusted himself off.

A short siren wailed in the distance, signalling that the evening lockdown would begin shortly. After Hawke stood, the two walked languidly towards the cell block and climbed the stairs into the building with other inmates, feeling an instant relief from the heat in the cooler indoors.

Fenris had been in the Tower so long he could have walked the halls blind and never not know exactly where he was at any given moment. As much as he hated the Tower’s wall, they were familiar to him. Hawke had a similar feeling, though certainly not to the extent as Fenris did.

While walking, Fenris uttered that he would have someone return Anders’ cot tomorrow, since the metal workshop would have been shut down for the evening. Hawke grinned at his words and threw his arm over his shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze and thanking him. Fenris shrugged out of his affectionate hold – not out of disgust, more so out of reluctance of the act he would be arranging tomorrow.

However much Hawke may like Anders, or have an intrigue regarding him, Fenris did not have the same curiosity.

If anything, he wasn’t sure he could care less for the petulant pyromaniac.

He felt more agreeable to that idea when they returned to the cellblock and witnessed an exchange between the pyromaniac in question and another prisoner, a lanky looking fellow with a smug look on his face. Though Fenris would have been content to ignore them and turn away, Hawke pressed forward, and he felt obliged to follow him at that point. As they drew closer, they began to overhear parts of their conversations.

“-do it for shits and giggles? That it? You burn down Chantry’s to spite the Maker?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“And what about that Courthouse? Hm? What was that about? A last ‘ _fuck you_ ’ to the system?”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know about.”

“Oi- oi! Don’t walk away from me, I’m talking to you.”

“You’re about to talk to a fucking doctor if you touch me again.”

Hawke and Fenris weren’t the only ones being drawn in by the conversation. Several other inmates were beginning to poke their heads out of their cells to see where things were going. After all, Blondie had already knocked someone out for copping a quick feel.

All of them were wondering what he’d do to someone snooping about his past.

Almost as if disgusted by the display, Fenris directed his gaze elsewhere as he walked in line behind Hawke, uncaring for the scene Hawke was about to interrupt. _Hawke’s business is Hawke’s business._

Or it is until a factor of it will interfere with his plans, whatever they may be.

And that factor takes the form of Warden Alrik, stomping down the cellblock from the opposite end with two faithful lackeys at his heels, headed straight towards them with his gaze fixated on the blonde and the inmate arguing in the hall. Heads turn as Alrik passes the cells, whispers erupting and breaking the silence down the hall.

Fenris knows what Hawke will try to do. Hawke will try to convince the agitated inmate to go about his business, and try to use that charming smile of his to sass Warden Alrik into forgetting what he was intent to deal with in the first place. This was only going to be a temporary measure.

And as reluctant as he is, he knows he can resolve it much quicker.

He didn’t get his reputation as the _Little Wolf_ just by bullying his cellmates after all.

“Enough.” Using the weight of his deep voice, Fenris growled at the inmate who seemed to immediately shrink away under the intensity of his glare.

“What are you-”

“Shut up.” Fenris interrupted the blonde and glared at him. Fenris usually regarded Anders with the same animosity he did everyone else. Not this time. Now, it was an outright warning to be silent or risk a bludgeoning – by either himself or the wardens still marching towards them.

Hawke gave Fenris a questioning look for a moment before his gaze was drawn to Warden Alrik after the whispers near by became slightly louder, and the realisation of what Fenris was doing dawned on him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Warden Alrik spoke in a light voice, however deep for his age, that made it seem as though he cared very little for what the situation was. But one good look at the man and anyone would know this wasn’t true. Especially when his eyes landed on Anders, and narrowed just so, as if his existence in and of itself was a personal insult.

“The meaning of what?” Fenris replied before the others could announce anything.

“This…whatever it is. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.” Warden Alrik was intent on getting an answer, but Fenris was even more determined to see to he didn’t get the one he wanted.

“Nothing more than a slight misunderstanding. And it has been resolved.” Fenris turned his gaze towards the inmate who had been antagonising Anders, and after taking a moment to gather himself, promptly began to agree with him.

“Yes, yes! I thought he was someone I knew is all, no harm done.” The inmate stumbled over his own words, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth. The sheer presence that Fenris commanded was more than enough to make even some of the harder criminals in the Tower forget themselves.

“There you have it.” Fenris said and clasped his hand down on Anders’ shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jumpsuit and tugging him back slightly. “Goodnight warden.”

Anders made a quiet startled noise as Fenris promptly dragged him away, not noticing the way the elf nodded to Hawke with a knowing look. Hawke took a step back and proceeded to act as a barrier between Alrik’s line of sight and their retreating backs, smirking at them, as if daring them to try and stop them.

Fenris may be the Tower’s _Little Wolf_ , but Hawke still held the title of _Champion_ , even within these walls.

When they were safely out of sight and back at their cell, Fenris released Anders from his grip and sighed as he threw himself down on his cot, sinking into the mattress. Anders stood where he was, adjusting his jumpsuit as he looked through the open doorway of their cell, and the fact that he was once again taking up the space idly irked him, but he no longer had the energy to reprimand him for it.

“Why did you do that?” Anders’ voice was full of confusion, and when Fenris drew his gaze away from the ceiling, he could see how utterly bewildered the blonde was by the stunned look on his face. It made sense. After all, Fenris really hadn’t been anything but antagonistic towards him.

The obvious answer was that it aided Hawke. That’s was really his main priority in regards to it. The other reason was almost trivial in comparison to that – at least to him – but even so…

He knew of Alrik’s reputation. The man had served at the Tower’s sister facility, the one that housed women who had committed just as severe crimes as the men in here. He had heard some of the whispers that came out of that place, however much they were covered. A transfer was supposed to silence the matter, but that only meant the whispers of his… _methods_ spread here.

“Even you don’t deserve the attention of that man.” Fenris’ voice was much softer in comparison to how he had spoken earlier. Quiet, weary.

It was probably the kindest way he had spoken to Anders since their first meeting.

Anders was left standing in silence as Fenris rolled onto his side and murmured something about going to sleep and that Anders should not wake him under any circumstance.

And so he stood there, staring at the elf’s back, and wondering just what had happened and why.

What ulterior motive did Fenris have?

But after stewing in his confusion for a few moments, Anders decided it did not matter. At least not in that moment. He would worry about having to repay a favour to him at another time. He sat down on the mattress on the floor and ran his hands through his hair, feeling the weight of the silence in their cell when outside there were still voices not far off.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Anders leaned back until his back hit the wall and he stared at the ceiling. He touched his neck, where the bruises were faded but still visible. His fingertips traced some of the more sensitive spots, feeling a dull ache under the ginger touch.

He suddenly felt exhausted, for no discernable reason, and shifting his weight he laid down and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep for the rest of his sentence.

Their cell was utterly silent, and they individually cherished it in their own way. The solace it allowed them to delve into their thoughts, their hopes, their regrets.

It was the closest thing they would ever have to peace in the Tower.

 

* * *

 

The visitation room was silent for a change. Hawke and Varric sat opposite one another. They had finished their ritualistic idle chatter, and when Varric began to recap their business activities, Hawke instead asked something of him.

He asked Varric to dig into Anders’ history.

“Is the guy really worth looking into?” Varric asked with a noticeable look of disbelief in his eyes, despite how he tried to mask it with that cunning smirk of his.

“I believe so.” Hawke’s response was immediate, and his voice unwavering. It made Varric pause, and after several moments of thin silence, Varric leaned back in his chair.

“What are you thinking Hawke? Got something in mind?” Varric raised a brow at him, curious at to what his friend’s intentions were. He had no qualms regarding the task, and was certain he could get the information Hawke needed.

But one question remained though: why?

“I’m still putting it together. For now…just find out what you can.” Hawke slouched a little and began to play with his fingertips. “It may be nothing…it can’t hurt to check. But I think he could be useful. If our cards are played well enough.”

“You’re not good at Wicked Grace, Hawke.” Varric quipped and rubbed his face a little, containing his smile. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks Varric.”

By the end of their visitation, Hawke wandered down the hallway, listening to the echo of his footsteps.

His thoughts raced beyond counting, and time had never been an ally of his.

Opportunity. Opportunity and skill and the means. Everything needed to fall into place.

And maybe Anders had some of the skills he needed, if his hunch was right.

When Hawke lifted his head, all thoughts he had were replaced by a mocking quote he had heard somewhere in his travels. ‘ _Say thy devils name and he shall appear_.’

Walking towards him was Anders himself, and with a rather pitiful look on his face as well. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept well, and when they were close enough they exchanged a simple greeting. Anders kept walking, headed towards the visitation area with a steady although reluctant gait.

Hawke paused as he glanced at the retreating blonde over his shoulder, wondering what kind of person was visiting Anders, for what reason, and a thousand other thoughts he pushed to the back of his mind as he turned and headed back towards the cell block. If he truly wanted those answers, he would get them later.

Anders, however, would have been more content if he had been allowed to dig himself a hole and serve the remainder of his sentence in it. Even so…he could not bring himself to turn away the man who had come to visit him. He had done quite a lot for him, troubled as he was – as he still is.

When he was directed into the visitation room, Anders hesitated a moment before sitting down at the table in the centre of the dark room, lit by only a single light bulb in the roof. It was eerie.

A feeling of dread washed over him as he waited in silence. What kind of eyes would fall on him when he entered the room? What would he think of him, as he was now, a prisoner for all the things he had done?

The things he has no regret regarding?

He did not want the answers to these questions, and as easy as it would be to leave the room and ignore the man for the rest of his life in these walls, he could not bring himself to do it.

And then the door opposite the one he had walked in opened, and a figure came inside and closed the door behind it. There was a stiff silence as the man walked forward to the edge of the table, waiting a moment before pulling the metal chair back and sitting down on it, his face becoming illuminated by the light. Aged, but still with a fierceness to him that could not be denied. The bright blue eyes that once followed him into his darkest days were now…hollow, almost jaded.

And yet, Anders could still see that uneasy concern in him.

The kind that can only come from a foster-parent who hadn’t washed their hands of him.

“Anders…” His voice was strong, as it always had been. Anders remembered how his name used to be spoken; with disregard, contempt, neglect. But he had always spoken to him as though he were no different from anyone else.

“Justice.” The man’s surname, more like a title, rolled off his tongue so easily. It had been so long since he had seen him, heard his voice, felt the undying solicitude that came without reservation.

And he was utterly unworthy of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's next on Anders' list of prison fuck-ups? Find out next time...
> 
>  
> 
> content references from anderfeelsy's amazing posts about Justice and also Morrigan ( in tags of the second link: http://cyanopsis.tumblr.com/post/116432806517/omfg-that-jail-fenders-au-between-that-and + http://cyanopsis.tumblr.com/post/116415969532/think-about-how-jail-anders-just-keeps-digging )


	4. Wasted Space and a new Place

“Absolutely not.” Fenris spat the words out after taking a moment to collect himself. Hawke’s question had caught him completely off guard, so much so that he had stopped running and fixed on his bearded friend the most perplexed look he could manage. Hawke halted in front of him and turned to face him with a pitiful smile on his face.

“What if I said pretty-please?” Hawke spoke between soft pants. The two had been jogging around the inner walls, one of the many ways they got in daily exercise. Not that there was much else to do anyway.

“I am not a babysitter, Hawke.” Fenris almost snapped at him. The idea was detestable. He was dumbfounded that Hawke had even thought to _consider_ asking him, let alone thinking he would accept.

“I’m not asking you to babysit Blondie.” Hawke said and propped his hands on his hips, taking in one deep breath after another. “Just…keep an eye on him and stuff.”

“ _And stuff?_ ” Fenris repeated the words and narrowed his eyes at Hawke a little. Hawke was totally serious. There was no cheeky smirk or mischievous look in his eyes. None whatsoever. And that made his blood prickle in his veins. “What could possibly be so interesting about that moron?”

Silence fell as Hawke considered several things. Firstly; he didn’t really know if his little investigation would yield anything. It was highly likely it would be a waste of time and his outside resources. Even so, if it on the off chance did provide something of interest, however small or insignificant it would seem, he could not afford to skip over it.

Lives were at stake, and the longer he remained within the Tower, the worse things could become on the outside.

“I need you to do this Fenris.” Hawke sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gripping it for a moment before locking eyes with the shorter elf. “If nothing comes of it, do as you will. But I need you to keep an eye on him for the moment. Just until Varric can tell me what’s what.”

“…Fine.” There was a stiff silence in the air until Fenris accepted Hawke’s request, although he did so begrudgingly. “The dwarf had better find something worthwhile, for _his_ sake.”

Fenris moved around Hawke as he resumed his jog, his pace picking up quickly as Hawke was left standing behind him. With the morning light finally rising above the high walls of the Tower’s yards, the sweat on his skin began to glisten as he sniffed and released the breath he’d been holding.

“I hope so too…” Hawke muttered softly as he turned his gaze towards the main cell block. Somewhere, whether in here or out there…

Something was happening, something he had yet to figure out.

Luck had never been a kind friend to him in the past.

He hoped, for Anders’ sake, that it would be now.

 

* * *

 

Staring up at the ceiling as he did, he wondered how many times his eyes had traced the crack in the corner of his cell. The cell block was full of noise, as it usually was – random chattering or arguments, he cared not which – but inside the narrow space of his cell, it was utterly silent.

And in that silence, Anders’ world spun.

His visit with Justice a few days ago had left him more than a little rattled. He never would have expected to see him again, least of all of the man’s own volition, after what he had done.

He was even more surprised by the fact that Justice had not tried to reprimand him, or even question his actions.

The scene played over in his mind; countless times he relived it, to the extent that he felt he was still there in that room, feeling the suffocating pressure of the man’s presence. Justice, leaned forward at the edge of the table, his fingers entwined on the surface. Silent as the grave, brows furrowed as he looked at his blurred reflection in the metal table. Anders wondered what he had been thinking in those silent moments. What he wanted to say, the things he didn’t want to say, couldn’t say – the feelings he may or may not have been able to convey.

Anders wondered what the man saw when he finally looked at him again. An adult, beaten and broken by his own doing, with a core full of resentment and sorrow – or the stupid teenager still too rebellious and angry at the world to fully understand his place in it.

Or maybe he just saw another criminal.

He thought all of those things, until Justice spoke to him.

_I won’t ask why you did it. I know why._

The old man’s voice was strained as he spoke those words; not out of a reluctance to speak but rather out of sadness, and regret. Regret that while he had been so focused on helping the people of Kirkwall, the ones most in need, he had overlooked the one person who mattered when his support might have changed his fate.

Anders sat in silence, not sure if he had been in some bizarre dream, made worse the most Justice spoke.

 _Tell me honestly, Anders…did you want this to happen?_

The question had been eating away at him ever since he had left the room. He didn’t have an answer then, and he didn’t have one now. Had he subconsciously wanted this? To be in the Tower?

But now that he was here, did it even matter anymore?

Justice had asked him about his bruises. About the healing cuts on his lip and knuckles, and the bags under his eyes. Justice asked him why he looked a little thinner, why he looked…less than himself.

Anders hadn’t known what to say. He mumbled a hundred thousand nonsensical things under his breath. He hadn’t cared that half of what he said was lost on the old man, who could barely keep up with his rambling.

That didn’t matter.

It had never mattered.

Whether Justice understood it properly or not, what mattered was that he _listened_.

By the time Anders had finished his rant, he had buried his hands in his face, elbows holding his weight up on the table. He could not bear to look at him. He did not know which hurt more. Looking weak before the man who had tried so hard to care for him in his time of need, or having failed to do right by him and prove he had some worth left in him.

His stomach clenched tightly when he heard the old man’s chair scrapping backwards across the floor. Finally, he had realised that Anders was not worth his time. He would leave, and wash his hands of him, like the others…

Like the others…

But the feeling of a strong hand clasping down on his shoulder, heavy fingers digging into his skin and squeezing tightly, shocked him to his core.

Because Justice would not leave him. Even if he begged, the foolish, headstrong old man would still be there. He would not abandon him because he had made mistakes. He may not always agree with Anders, but he still respected him as a man.

A man who had recently lost someone very dear to him and had lashed out at the world in an act of vengeance.

 _Survive, my boy. This place will not break you._  

He had stood beside Anders in total silence after saying those words, holding his shoulder, and squeezing it every so often when he felt Anders’ trembling under his hands. Justice had been made to leave shortly after, as the visitation came to an end, and Anders left feeling like all of his nerves had been made raw to the world.

Days later, he still didn’t understand why.

After the things he had done…why Justice hadn’t simply gone on with his life, why had hadn’t forgotten about him…

In his own mind, he was barely worth saving a memory for, if at all.

He had his chance, and he threw it away to spite the world that had proven itself to be wrong.

Taking a deep breath, Anders decided he had had enough of sitting in his dark cell. Prison was depressing enough; he didn’t need to make it worse on himself by stewing in his thoughts.

What he needed was something to do. Something he could focus his mind on.

He knew that the Tower had a number of rehabilitation programs. Most of them had something or other to do with the Chantry, and not wanting to risk being lectured by a revered mother, decided that was not a course of action he wanted to take. He did, however, know there was a trading post where prisoners could buy things. There was only one problem in that regard.

He had no money to buy things with.

Not ready to start whoring himself out to his fellow inmates – especially when some of them had a face like a mabari hound – he knew that there were a few things he could do. A few tricks he had up his sleeve that he could use as a means of trade. But even with his little bag of magic tricks, unless he had an opportunity to use them, it would be fruitless.

As he wandered the prison’s halls, trying to think of ways he could barter with the attendant at the trade post, he paused as he overheard the conversation of a few inmates nearby.

“-something wrong with you?”

“Nothing, messed up my back. Fucking wardens can’t even afford decent beds.”

 _Bingo_.

 

* * *

 

Fenris could hardly believe the sight that lay before him when he returned to his cell. Hawke had asked him to watch Anders, for whatever purpose was still beyond the scope of his care-factor, and he had to assume that in doing so he would not be allowed to throttle the blonde no matter how much he wished it.

And boy, if he could, he would wring that blonde’s neck until he was dead on the ground.

He had wandered the prison’s halls for a good hour, trying to find the blonde. When he had no such luck, he opted to return to his cell, and merely be content to keep an ear out for him from there.

He hadn’t expected to find Anders there, or with _company_.

He stood, silent and bewildered in the doorway of his cell, where he slept and relaxed, and stared at the blonde’s back as he went about his business. An inmate, whose name mattered very little in that moment, lay face down on Anders’ cot – the very same he had returned two days prior as a gesture of good will at Hawke’s request – shirtless as the blonde pyromaniac sat on his backside and dug the balls of his palms into his shoulder blades, earning deep, low growls of a pain as the knots in his muscles were worked out.

He had left his cell block for no more than an hour at best, and left to his own devices and with no watchful eye over him, that idiot blonde had turned his cell – _his damn cell_ – into a massage parlour.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Fenris growled, his teeth almost grinding together as the words came out. Anders noticeably flinched at the sound of his deep voice, clearly not having expected him. His face was pale as he turned around, mouth slightly ajar as he debated what to say.

Anders shifted a little, allowing the inmate room to sit up and move. The inmate, cowering under Fenris’ icy glare, stuttered out several things before the elf fixed his gaze on him.

“ _Get. Out._ ”

The inmate was quick to scurry to his feet and out the cell door, moving around Fenris who refused to give way to him.

Hawke had asked him to watch Anders, but there was no way he was going to let the brat get away with this – not in his cell.

Walking forward into the dim cell, a dark shadow was cast over Anders as Fenris drew closer. Without even meaning to, Anders scooted back on his cot until his back was pressed against the wall. He nervously maintained eye-contact with the elf, almost purely out of fear of what might come next – likely not the best idea – but he really had no where to go unless he wanted to try and make a dash for the door.

He wouldn’t even get that far with Fenris looming over him with eyes that could kill.

“L-Look, I wasn’t doing anything-”

“Do I look like I care whether or not you’re getting some?” Fenris interrupted him, the sharp tone of his voice silencing any defence Anders might attempt.

“I was trying to trade a favour for the-”

“You will not do it again _._ ” Fenris snarled, his upper lip rising a little as he said the words. When Anders lowered his gaze, Fenris reached forward and cupped his chin in his palm, digging his fingers into the skin of his lightly stubbled cheeks and forcing his gaze back in his direction. “Do you understand?”

Anders was quiet for a good while, cringing under Fenris’ glare. He clearly did not want to abide by his orders. Fenris could see as much in his eyes – that he wanted to deny him with every fibre of his being. One of his fingers was hooked under his jaw line, and he could faintly feel the rapid pace of his pulse. He watched as those amber eyes wavered for a moment, watched as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the lump in his throat, and watched as his lips parted to utter the word he would detest.

“Yes.”

Fenris relaxed his hand and let it fall to his side, content with the blonde’s answer, and took a step back to allow the brat some notion of space.

“Know your place…” Fenris said as he took another step back, and when the back of his knees touched the edge of his cot, he sat down, his gaze fixed on the blonde opposite him. “Or I will teach you where it is.”

They sat in utter silence, as if nothing else existed or held form, and for a while Anders felt like he might actually die from the tension in the air. Fenris watched the blonde, frozen in place; afraid to breathe, let alone move. Holding back a smirk at the blonde’s compliance, Fenris waited several long moments before speaking again.

“Leave.”

Anders stood up and made a bee-line for the door, walking at a steady pace as if to keep some measure of his dignity in tact after having been ordered around. Once alone, Fenris could feel the corners of his lips tugging upward and he chuckled quietly, and raised a hand to rub his face a little.

As annoying as it had been to see the blonde using his space as he pleased, the outcome hadn’t been entirely boring. ‘ _He shouldn’t be too hard to keep in check now._ ’ He thought to himself, remembering the way the blonde had practically cowered under his stare.

But from inside his cell, Fenris could not see the way that a pair of mischievous eyes followed after the blonde.

Watching, waiting.

Learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content reference: http://cyanopsis.tumblr.com/post/116415969532/think-about-how-jail-anders-just-keeps-digging (this was also referenced in the last chapter but this time regarding Anders).


	5. A Change in the Wind

Anders stood in utter silence before the Tower’s very own Champion, eyes narrowed as the scruffy man held his sides and laughed boisterously until his eyes were filled with tears.

“Hawke! I’m not kidding!”

“I know…!”

And still he continued to laugh, loudly for that matter, until the chortles quieted down to muffled sniggers and shallow gasps for air. It had been embarrassing enough to ask Hawke for help – not mentioning the fact he may well end up owing the man later on – but his reaction made him feel all the more foolish for having even considered it.

“Please, you have to help me.” Anders pleaded with the dark haired man whose sardonic smirk only continued to grow. “He’s going to kill me; I swear by Andraste’s sacred knickers, he’s going to kill me in my sleep.”

“Fenris isn’t going to kill you, Blondie, relax.” Hawke snickered again as he took in the panicked look on Anders’ face. It was, in a word, priceless. He never got tired of that expression. “He’s just a little cranky, that’s all.”

“ _Hawke_.” Anders stressed his name, hoping that it might warrant a more serious response.

“Anders,” Hawke stood and languidly draped his arm around Anders’ shoulder, walking side by side with him around the yard. “Listen closely. If Fenris really wanted you dead, you’d know. You’ve been here a few weeks now. I can tell you, you’ve lasted a lot longer than any of us thought you would.”

“That’s hardly comforting, especially since he’s actually killed all his previous cellmates.” Anders spoke in a wary voice. He had heard plenty of rumours about the elf’s ferocity but had never confirmed it for himself. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know in any case.

“He’s only had a few cellmates, but yes. He has.” Hawke spoke as calmly as possible, hoping that might still the blonde’s nerves. It didn’t in the least. “Anders, seriously, _breathe_. They were in for far worse crimes than setting fires. They had it coming.”

Anders released a shaky breath as Hawke tapped his shoulder a few times. It was as close to a gesture of comfort he was going to get in that moment. Hawke couldn’t help but feel a little pity for him and led him across the barely grassed outdoors to a quiet spot around the building’s corner where fewer eyes would land on them. Once there, Hawke ushered for him to sit on a pair of steps that led to a side entrance to the cellblock.

“Breathe.” Hawke reminded him again, and nudged his shin with his foot as he stood in front of him, offering a sympathetic smile as he did so. “Nobody is going to kill you, least of all Fenris.”

“You sound a little too certain of that…” Ander said as he ran his fingers through his hair.

For the past two days he had been living under Fenris’ intense scrutiny. At first he had brushed it off as the same old animosity carelessly thrown his way for merely existing in the same space as the elf did, but he left that sharp stare where ever he went; a pair of eyes burning holes through the back of his skull as he went about his business trying to earn favours among his fellow inmates. He’d been able to arrange for a few of them to purchase some things for him; little comforts that would make his days just a little easier – his most prised thus far being a clean pair of thin plain clothes to wear under the itchy prison jumpsuit.

But the more the days droned on, and the more he become aware of the elf’s animus towards his person, the more reluctant he became to even dare breathe in his presence – as though that alone might be enough to instigate a violent reaction.

Hawke could almost drown in the anxious atmosphere that surrounded him. Sighing deeply, the tall man rubbed the back of his neck and directed his gaze towards the sky, staring at the grey mass of clouds looming overheard.

“You know anything about Tevinter?” The question was an abrupt one, and Anders lifted his gaze a little to stare at his only friend within the Tower.

“Hawke, what does that have to do with any-”

“Do you or don’t you?”

When Hawke looked down at Anders again, it was clear to the blonde that he wanted the question answered, for whatever reason. Anders could only lean back on the steps until his back straightened and shrugged his shoulders, fiddling with his fingers at the same time.

“I don’t, not really.” Had he paid a little more attention in school – or showed up, for that matter – Anders might have been able to give him a more meaningful response.

“Then imagine a country that adores its history and tradition so much that they continue to allow slavery behind closed doors. There’s a reason the Dalish keep to the south, you know.” The way Hawke spoke, so candidly and yet with such a bitter glint in his eyes, felt Anders staring at him with his mouth agape.

He had heard the faintest rumours about Tevinter. Hardly anyone ever spoke of the supposedly diseased land, a place so rife with decadent depravity that merely speaking the name left a bad taste in ones mouth – much like mentioning the Black Divine, for that matter. Those rumours were often accompanied by news of their relentless war campaign that had been running in the far north, against the Qunari of Par Vollen and Seheron.

But slavery…

Never in his wildest dreams could he ever conceive of such a thing – not in the modern world they lived in. He had had more than his fair share of hardship, the things he had endured as a young boy were beyond the scope of what any normal child should have to undergo. But he couldn’t even begin to think of what a life in Tevinter might have been like. He didn’t dare try.

“If Fenris wanted you dead, you’d be _dead_ , and no one would even question it.” Hawke continued to speak, and Anders felt his skin prickle with goosebumps as an unpleasant chill crept up his spine. “He doesn’t go around killing because he feels like it, or because someone managed to get under his skin a little, no matter how he may seem at times. You’re not in danger of him.”

Anders wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. From what little Anders knew, Fenris had spent the majority of his life behind bars. Did he have a grudge against the people of Tevinter? Family that had been victim to some creep’s petty desires? Or merely an immense distaste of those who acted with a similar disregard for freedom?

It was almost fanciful, in a sense, and relatable in another.

A hot-headed, renegade vigilante behind bars. It would make for a good story.

“I’m not sure I really understand.” Anders said quietly as he furrowed his brow.

“You don’t need to.” Hawke extended his hand and placed it on Anders’ head, roughly ruffling his hair until the blonde yelped and swatted his hand away. “Just don’t go luring people in his cell. He’s touchy about his space.”

“You don’t have to tell me that…” Anders mumbled as his lower lip curled into a pout while adjusting his hair.

Hawke laughed whole heartedly as he nudged Anders’ shin again and encouraged him to apologise to Fenris in some way – and helpfully mentioned that offering him a free massage was not going to get him any friendship points. After earning a laugh from the pyromaniac, Hawke said he had some things to take care of himself, and waved to Anders as he walked away to deal with whatever matter would occupy his attention. Anders didn’t particularly care for his business. From what he could tell, none of it was legitimate, and the less he knew about it, the better it probably was for Hawke.

But after a few moments of sitting in silence, Anders could not help but reflect on what Hawke had said.

He didn’t understand it mostly. He knew too little to make a proper assumption – however dangerous it would be to do so, and he certainly had no intention of prying into the elf’s business. Hawke may be confident that Fenris wouldn’t kill him, but he said nothing of the possibility of getting his arse handed to him.

At the very least, he should make some kind of apology – even if only a fumbling one. He had to acknowledge the fact that he _had_ annoyed the elf beyond reason. Maybe a sign of good will on his part.

He sat on those steps for a while, enjoying the soothing feeling of the sun warming his skin. He wondered if his cellmate might be in need of something, something that would…

Nothing came to mind, and he made a soft annoyed noise under his breath.

He stood and arched his back slightly, stretching as he did so, and headed back towards the main building. Maybe someone knew something that could help him. Hawke had gone off to do his own thing, so the chances of finding him again in the near future were slim to none.

Unless the Maker himself decided to provide some friendly divine intervention, he would have to do what little he could.

 

* * *

 

Evening at the Tower were usually the same, unless someone was in a bad mood and started a brawl – though some days, that too, was ordinary. With lockdown nearing, inmates were sluggishly returning to their cells or defiantly lingering in hallways, where guards were readying to haul them off for disobedient behaviours. Fenris sat cross-legged on his cot as he softly rubbed the space between his brows. He did so blissfully, until a presence near by suddenly overtook the surrounding space.

There was something about the way that the blonde stood in the doorway of their cell that annoyed Fenris. He didn’t have to look up and see him there, awkwardly sizing up his person as if cautiously approaching a wild beast. It was more so about the way he oozed nervousness that made the air feel thicker.

Though that had been a result of his own actions, and so he couldn’t complain.

It irked him though, for whatever reason he didn’t know, and if he didn’t move out of the doorway soon, Fenris was going to remove him that spot.

“Do you need something?” Fenris snapped when his patience began to wear thin. From the corner of his eye, he saw Anders flinch ever so slightly.

“I uh…” Anders cleared his throat and lightly dragged his hand over his face, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

If Fenris had to summarise his person in one word, it would be _hopeless._

“If you’ve something to say, speak.”

It took the blonde a few moments more to enter the cell, stopping just short of the edge of Fenris’ cot. From the corner of his eye, he watched his cellmate raise his hand slightly and hold something out to him. Turning his head further, he raised a brow at the object in the blonde’s scarred hand.

A hardcover book, leather bound with a faded, worn out spine and tearing corners. Why he was being offered it, on the other hand, was something he wanted to know. He lifted his gaze from the book to the blonde’s face, who was trying to keep as composed an expression as possible. Fenris didn’t even need to voice his question.

“A peace offering…or, just an apology-gift…thing…” Anders mumbled several things, clearly not having properly thought out what he was going to say.

“And what, pray-tell, are you apologising for?” Fenris asked as he steadily held his gaze. Anders, however, seemed to have more than a little trouble doing the same, and was noticeably beginning to squirm.

“For bringing inmates into your space and stepping on all of your nerves?” The response was a less than eloquent one; awkward and light-hearted, but clearly well meant despite trying to be carefree. Fenris shifted his weight and stood off the cot, standing just barely shorter than the blonde as he grabbed the edge of the book and removed it from his grasp.

“Hawke told you to do this, didn’t he?” Fenris asked as Anders’ solemn expression shifted into an unsettled one.

Anders had been far too skittish the last few days; especially when he had been near by. The only way Fenris would comprehend him doing this of his own accord was if Hawke had suggested it in some way, given the fact that the two of them often spoke every now and then.

And with Anders standing there, mouth opening and closing unable to form a reply, he was certain he was correct.

Fenris sighed quietly as he turned the book on its side a little, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read the words on the spine. The only word he could roughly make out was the author’s surname, Genitivi – and that was only because he had seen the word enough times to recognise that it belonged to the famous professor.

It would have been a nice gift, had it not been wasted on him. Lacking a proper education – and also being too hostile towards the juvenile centre instructors when offered one – had left him with a limited ability to read. Fenris doubted he’d be able to make much of the book.

When he raised his gaze a little, Fenris could see that Anders’ face was tight with apprehension. He had to give him some credit, at the very least. Trying was better than not trying at all. And he seemed genuine in his offering.

But there was little profit to be had in accepting something that he could not make use of, nor adequately appreciate. He did not have it within himself to accept the gesture half-heartedly, however much amusement he might get out of it later on.

So, he extended it to Anders’ as he had done moments before, and Anders looked down at it sceptically before taking into his possession again.

“I have no use for it.” Fenris said simply as he moved to sit down on his cot once more, glaring at the doorway a little at the sound of the guards outside yelling orders to inmates as they began to move down the cell block.

“Not a fan of Genitivi, then?” Anders’ had a slight smile on his face as he sat down on his own cot, folding one of his legs up into his chest and resting in chin on it.

“I know little of him, save that he has written many academic journals.”

“Not a fan of reading then?”

“Reading is quite pointless when you can’t read in general.”

“Oh-…oh.”

Anders said nothing else as his expression shifted from incredulous to recognition. Fenris had no shame in admitting such a thing. He had seen far more illiterate people than himself in the Tower, and not being able to read was by no means a reflection of his intelligence in any way. Fenris watched with intent as Anders’ gaze flicked back and forth across the floor as he gathered some notion of his thoughts, clearly thinking hard about the proper thing to say next.

“Well…I feel like an ass.” The blonde said after several long of silence – not counting the faded curses from outside their cell.

The response was so simple that it made the corners of Fenris’ lips twitch as a short chuckle made his chest rise briefly.

“At least you are aware of it…” Fenris could feel himself smirking just a little bit more as he spoke. When his gaze was drawn back to Anders, he raised a brow at the look of disbelief almost plastered across his cellmate’s face. “What?”

“You just _smirked_.”

“What? Did you think I was serious all the time?”

“Well…yeah, sort of.”

“Perhaps I only smirk when you make an ass of yourself then. You’ll never know.”

In that moment, Anders wasn’t sure what was more surprising.

That Fenris had _sassed_ him, or the fact that not only had that been the longest conversation they had had, but also the least antagonistic.

 

* * *

 

There were very few places in the Tower that weren’t fully staffed and under constant surveillance. The vast majority of those areas housed the inmates, and as such were under guard all hours of the day.

But there were some places where exchanges could go unseen, unheard, and entirely unnoticed, by the inmates and the wardens alike.

And it was there that Hawke would meet with the one person who could tell him more about the inner workings of the Tower.

Tall, proud, and fierce – with a name that carried a weight that she had honed for herself, Aveline Vallen was a force to be reckoned with, even among the wardens. She was not above rough housing the inmates when it was called for and many had learned the hard way that trying to cause trouble on her watch was the best way to get a concussion.

At first, he had thought it merely coincidence that she had gotten a job at the Tower, acting like the enforcer she tried to be some years back on the streets of Low Town. But as time went on, Hawke got the feeling that she and Varric had pulled more than a few strings just to keep an eye on him, and to ensure he could continue his affairs as best he could.

To just about everyone in the Tower, Aveline was the red-head with a hot temper. But to Hawke, she was a trusted friend, and a loyal one at that. Honourable is a word rarely used in their world, but it was the only one that fit her.

And even so, she was willingly to sacrifice some of her own morals when it was necessary. And due to recent circumstances, it had been very necessary.

“You’ve got an awfully sour look on your face today.” Hawke tried to sound flippant, but the way her brow was knitted together and her lips pursed made him uneasy. It was rare for her to be worried, especially when she was well known for having an utmost sense of control, even in a crisis. “I’m guessing you don’t have any good news for me?”

“Depends on what you call _good news_.” Aveline grumbled a little as she looked over her shoulder. The narrow corridor for the cleaners was empty most of the day between the janitor shifts, and one of the few places that the surveillance budget hadn’t covered very well.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.” Hawke mused softly, a strained smile on his face. Aveline shot him a sympathetic look before crossing her arms over her chest.

“There have been some…odd changes to the roster recently, for your cellblock.” Aveline’s voice lowered into a quiet whisper so only Hawke could hear, despite the fact there was no one else around.

“Alrik’s doing?” Hawke asked, and when she nodded, Hawke felt his stomach tighten and lurch a little. “What the hell is the old bastard up to?”

“I don’t know, but the other day, I overheard some of the new wardens on shift talking.” With each word Aveline spoke, Hawke could feel himself being set on edge, and the feeling of dread sweeping through him only worsened as she continued. “They’ve been talking about that new friend of yours; Anders.”

“Anders? What about him?” Hawke narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. What interest did Anders hold for the wardens? Was it because of his little outbursts in the weeks prior?

“Not sure. As far as I can tell, they’ve been told to keep an eye on him.” Aveline checked her watch quickly, knowing that there was a limited amount of time she could be absent from her regular patrol through this area. “What did Varric say?”

“He’s still trying to get information. Said something about a lot of records to sift through, from Ferelden.” Hawke briefly recapped his meeting with Varric that same morning. Varric had seemed unusually agitated, and impatient for that matter, about how difficult it had been pulling together some sense of continuity to Anders’ history.

He was, in his own words, _tugging at the seams to pull the picture together_.

“You’d best hope he finds something soon. You know the rumours…” Aveline gave him a well intended, knowledgeable look. Almost everyone knew the rumours in the Tower. It was hard _not_ to know.

The only problem was that it had been exceedingly hard to confirm those rumours.

“I know.” Hawke said and breathed out slowly, repeating the words to himself in a much softer voice.

“Watch yourself Hawke.” Aveline said as she took a step back away from him, readying to head back to her patrol. “I will not have your death be my fault. Not today.”

“Not today, I promise.” Hawke could only smile as she turned her back to him.

Even when she had bad news for him, Hawke always felt some sense of relief and comfort knowing that she was still on his side, even though at times it annoyed her. She had tried and failed many a time to shake loose his ‘corrupting influence’, but even she knew that he had good intentions.

Most of the time, at least.

Hawke did not linger in that hallway much longer, knowing that if he were caught there it would only be trouble – and get him a rough knock on the head from Aveline for having been so idiotically reckless.

When he returned to the cellblock, he did so with a heavy gait and a displeased look on his face. His gaze flicked to the wardens as slyly as possible. Which of them were going to be replaced in the short to near future? Who was it he needed to keep an eye on.

With one deep breath after another, Hawke tried to rid himself of the uneasy feeling crawling through his veins and taking root inside him.

The longer he stayed in the dark, the more dangerous the game became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last update was like 5 days ago, and I barely did any writing in that time, so this chapter feels a little weird to me, but hopefully it reads well and you all enjoy it! :) have a good day, and thank you all for your patience and the kind words from those who sent messages about the brief hiatus!


	6. New Management

Once a month, there is an event that manages to put a smile on the face of every prisoner in the Tower.

Routine security checks.

As odd as it would seem to an outsider, it is the one time that the prisoner’s are allowed beyond the walls of the Tower – despite being moved into another facility in the meantime. The Tower, and its sister facility, undergo regular maintenance checks to ensure the functionality of the prisons and also to repair any immediate hazards. The process itself takes several hours, and due to the risk of not being able to lockdown the facilities in case of a riot, the inmates are moved off-base during that time.

The Tower goes to almost extreme limits to make sure there are no unpleasant surprises on route. The timing is never the same, and there is an unpredictable pattern to it that only Warden Commander Meredith decides – almost on a whim, some have whispered. Inmates are often dragged out of their cells in the middle of the night and herded onto the shuttle buses that take them away from the Tower and to another facility where a rigorous series of security checks would be done as the Tower itself is thoroughly inspected. The majority of the inmates would be too confused and bleary eyed to try something, though it wouldn’t be a routine security check without at least one runner.

Anders really had no idea how to react to the entire situation. Even when on route to the secondary site, he had still been too tired and too confused to even ask what was happening.

The night was dark as clouds lingered overhead, blocking the light of the moon and veiling the world. The bus was only dimly lit, more so at the front for the drivers, and around him, he could hear the sleepy inmates grumbling about the whole process. Beside him, sitting calmly as if utterly undisturbed by the situation, was Fenris. The elf sat quietly and fiddled with his fingers and picked at his nails at times, simply out of boredom rather than any other feeling. Noticing the blonde’s puzzled stare, Fenris directed his gaze to the front of the bus.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said simply, jerking his chin out slightly towards the guards protecting the gate leading to the front of the bus. “So long as you keep your head down, you’ll get no trouble from them.”

“Thanks…” Anders said the word through a yawn and began to rub the sleep from the corner of his eyes. Briefly, he asked Fenris what was happening, and the elf told him in simple terms about the process of maintenance the Tower went through. Anders listened as best he could, though most of what he said was lost on his weary mind.

The rest of the trip went by in a dark blur. Anders wasn’t entirely sure if he’d even been awake for most of it, but he had a rude awakening in the form of Fenris roughly nudging his leg to rouse his attention before the guards hauled them off the shuttle bus in pairs.

Anders trudged along behind Fenris when it was their turn, his footsteps heavy and unsteady as he tried to wake himself quickly. Outside there was no natural light – the shuttle bus had pulled into a large building lit by hundreds of fluorescent lights.

Prisoners were being marched off buses and into rows before being sent further into the facility. There were no windows, merely a series of gates behind the bus that prevented immediate escape, and a single double-width door leading inside, manned by guards in an unfamiliar uniform. Splitting the large room in half was a wall divider made of see-through acrylic, and beyond it Anders noticed a key difference between the prisoners being escorted into the facility on that side of the room. They were women, from the Sister Tower. Each of them wore a uniform similar to his own, however stylised to their desires.

One of the women caught his eye, a fragile looking girl with dark hair and fair skin, and series of tattoos framing her face. A Dalish elf, or so he assumed, who looked as though she were in her late teens, tripping and falling off the bus and scrambling to her feet with a panicked look on her face. He could not hear her, but guessed from her stance she was profusely apologising for having fallen. The guards looked on her with pity, as did her fellow inmates.

“Hurry up.” Fenris’ voice brought Anders’ gaze away from the meagre sights around him, and he quickly followed in step behind him. It would be bad to draw the attention of the guards, but raising Fenris’ ire would be far more annoying.

The next series of examinations was something Anders had grown accustomed to. Being inspected this way and that, inside and out, to ensure he had carried nothing inside the facility with him. He found it more than a little disturbing he was already use to people poking at him in this fashion.

What surprised him even more, however, was that not only had Fenris simply walked past the guards at this checkpoint, but none had tried to stop him from doing so. After his _inspection_ was complete, he left the small curtained-cubical and approached Fenris, who had been lingering around the doorway into the building.

“Why didn’t they check you?” Anders raised a brow at him, curious and a little annoyed that the elf hadn’t undergone the same thing he had.

“Because I am not foolish enough to smuggle anything. They know this.” Fenris pushed himself off the wall and roll his shoulders back, his bones creaking and cracking as he did so. “That, and they learned fairly quickly not to try.”

“And how did they learn that exactly?” Anders tilted his head a little, somewhat curious about the elf’s tale, however short.

“If you break a man’s arm, he will learn to keep his hands to himself.” Fenris could just barely reign in the smirk tugging at his lips, and Anders smiled more himself at watching the elf restrain his emotions. The amused expression vanished rather quickly though. “Come with me. Hawke wants to see you.”

“Now?” The quizzical look returned to Anders’ face as he watched the elf pull away from the wall and walk further into the building.

“He doesn’t think it would be wise for you to linger on your own in this place.” Fenris explained without looking back. Anders followed his steps obediently, looking at the nape of his neck with some interest, or rather some confusion.

“Why? Is there something you’re not telling me-”

Before Anders could finish the sentence, there was a loud yelling noise from down the hall. Fenris seemed unperturbed by it as they approached but as he listened, Anders felt a chill go down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end.

The shouting became louder, so much so that it almost left an unpleasant ringing in his ears, and as they passed a door that had been left slightly ajar, Anders just barely caught a glimpse of the sight taking place within – in full view of a number of indifferent inmates and guards. A man lay flat on his stomach, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth as he clawed at the floor, trying to scramble away from his attacker tearing at his clothes. The man who sat kneeled behind him held his head to the ground, keeping him in place as he readied to take him against his will.

The guards didn’t seem to be interested in what was happening in the least. Their eyes scanned the room but landed nowhere. The inmates, however, looked on in either contempt or amusement. Those that didn’t approve didn’t seem to care enough to get involved. Some even encouraged the act, murmuring how they would get a turn next as the young inmate began to cry out in pain.

“Remember, this place is not the Tower.” Fenris’ voice once again lured Anders’ gaze away. The look on Fenris’ place was one he had not seen before – not sullen but clearly full of distaste and uneasiness.

“What do you mean?” Anders asked the question quietly, a little unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. The cries and curses of the man being raped within the room beside him filled his ears, along with the sickening, amused hollering of the inmates baiting the attacker.

“The men here are paid only to see that no one escapes. They could care less about what goes on within these walls.” Fenris said matter-of-factly as he closed his eyes, as though trying to block out the act happening but a few meters beyond that door.

“So…fair game, is that it?” Anders narrowed his eyes a little, feeling sick to his stomach as the sounds in the room became louder and almost unbearable.

“That is…accurate, in a way.” Fenris said as he took a step back, cocking his head back slightly to urge Anders to follow. “As I said, Hawke does not think it would be wise for you to wander.”

Anders wasn’t sure if he should feel glad that Hawke was looking out for him, or sick to his stomach that such protection was not guaranteed by the very staff on hand. Fenris led the way in silence with Anders walking but a few short feet behind to give the elf his personal space while remaining close enough that they could speak comfortably if need be. The hallways all looked the same to Anders – painted white and with nothing but a few signs indented into the walls every so often. Before long, he found himself being led up a set of stairs, and when he tentatively asked where they were going, Fenris only replied that they were going to see Hawke – no more, no less – and the journey resumed in silence.

The facility was so large that it took them almost fifteen minutes to reach their destination – a desolate little room full of worn out furniture. It could have been a rumpus room if not entirely devoid of anything relating to entertainment. Across the room, Hawke was lounging on a couch, taking up the entire space of it as he lay on his back. Upon hearing them approach, Hawke smiled at them.

“Well, you made it here well enough. Good.” Hawke did not sit up as he spoke, and Fenris moved to sit at the end of the couch, tapping Hawke’s legs to get him to move. Hawke shifted his legs to make room for the elf before laying them over the tattooed elf’s lap once he was seated.

Anders found that simple interaction between them utterly baffling. Not because he believed either incapable of such a simple act, but because on their own, the two of them had such a dominating presence that such a thing seemed beyond what either would ever do.

“Any trouble on the way up?” Hawke asked in a quiet voice after noticing the way that Anders was anxiously standing about, with some kind of worrisome look on his face as he glanced back at the doorway.

“None for us.” Fenris answered Hawke’s question almost bitterly, and Hawke sighed a little as he understood what he meant.

“How long do we have to stay here?” Anders asked as he took a seat somewhere nearby and looked at Hawke again.

“The Tower is a big place, but they’ve boiled it down to a simple system after so many years.” Hawke explained. “We don’t know exactly how they do it, but it takes like…I don’t know, eight – maybe nine – hours. We’ll be back on those buses before you know it.”

“And what are we doing here, exactly?”

“Waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?”

“Company.”

Anders tilted his head in confusion and furrowed his brows, but Hawke made no attempt to elaborate, and Fenris seemed to care more for the ceiling than their conversation at that point.

It wasn’t long before a pair of soft voices in the hall drew his attention. One of them sounded familiar somehow, distance but warm, and filled him with a nostalgic feeling he didn’t really understand in that moment.

When the duo wandering their way appeared in the doorway, Anders understood why that voice was familiar. When he saw he face, saw that cocky smile, the long dark hair that was held back by a patterned blue bandana, and the golden brown eyes that screamed trouble, he felt like he had been sent back in time.

Back to when he was young and foolish – even more so than he was in the present – and spent all his nights away from home in dank places with questionable people.

Back to when he cared little for where he went or who he went with, so long as it took him away from his co-called home.

Back to when she dragged him into trouble more times than he could count.

Back to when he felt he had some semblance of belonging.

“Hawke, remind me again why you always choose this spot? It’s so far from the entrance, you know.” Despite her complaining, the woman smiled at him warmly.

“Isabela?” Anders spoke before Hawke could answer her. The name fell from his lips before he could stop himself, and her once assured gaze landed on him with surprise.

“Anders…what the hell are you doing here?” Perhaps she had been surprised to see him, or maybe simply caught off guard for once, but it was the first time Hawke had ever seen her with a look of utter bewilderment on her face.

The room feel utterly silent as all eyes fell on them, gazing at each other with bitter, sad eyes – each a little upset knowing the other was in an unsafe place. Hawke kept as composed as he could and remained where he lay, but he stared intently at Anders, wondering a hundred thousand things at one time.

“You two know each other?” Hawke’s voice was strained despite trying to keep his tone light. He didn’t like this at all.

Yet another thing he had yet to learn and understand.

“We knew each other back in Ferelden, briefly but…Anders, how’d you end up in Kirkwall?” She originally spoke to Hawke, but Isabela shifted her curious gaze back to Anders.

“They transferred me to another place after that tussle we had in Denerim. Figured taking me out of Ferelden might calm things down.” Anders couldn’t help but smile a little at the memory. They had done plenty of foolhardy things in the past, but their time in Denerim had been one full of excitement and danger.

“Ha! Well, that seemed to do you a lot of good.” The comment was light-hearted, and Anders knew it to be as much, but it hit just a little too close to home. Isabela realised this moments after, and her smile lessened somewhat.

“Hate to interrupt and all,” Hawke began as he shifted on his side a little, drawing their attention. “But I need to talk to you Isabela. You got my message, right?”

“Oh, yes. Dull little thing that.” Isabella smirked at him, once again acting like her usual haughty self. “Anders, we can catch up in a little.”

“Merrill, take Anders and go get something to eat, okay?” Hawke addressed the lean girl who had been lingering patiently behind Isabela, looking to and fro between everyone as they spoke with a simple but friendly smile. Anders recognised her immediately as the elf who had fallen out of the bus beyond the divider not long ago.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” She was startled for a moment when Hawke called on her, but waved Anders over to her. “Come along, if you don’t get food here you don’t eat at all, come on.”

Anders laughed a little and waved his hand lazily in farewell to Hawke and Isabela. Hawke gave Fenris a quick look, and the elf sighed as he sat up and followed after the two walking out of the room. One could see him grimace as the young Dalish girl asked Anders about his favourite foods and how the cafeteria in this place had little else than some stale bread at times.

When they were gone, Isabela moved to sit down in the spot that Fenris had occupied earlier, and Hawke sat up and move room for her as he situated himself in the corner opposite her.

“So, about the Arishok…” Isabela sighed a little as she began, rubbing the back of her neck. ‘Things aren’t progressing well, so I hear. That Qunari gang is getting all kinds of restless, especially since you’re not around to deal with the Tal-Vashoth anymore. ”

“That can wait a moment.” When Hawke said this, Isabela was truly stunned. For the longest time, the rival Qunari organisation had been the forefront of their attention, though she had noticed Hawke’s concern had waned as of late. “I need you to tell me what you know about Anders.”

“Anders?” Isabela leaned back a little, taken aback by his request. She looked at the door for a moment, as if expecting the blonde to be there, and returned her gaze to Hawke. “You’re not going to get the poor boy into any trouble, are you?”

“From what I can tell, he’s already in trouble.” Hawke’s tone unsettled Isabela, and she swallowed as she took in the disturbed look in his eyes. “What do you know?”

“Not as much as you’d probably want to hear.” Isabela spoke after a moment of silence, trying to gather her thoughts. “I met him in the red light district of Denerim. We were…we were barely fifteen or so? We met through mutual acquaintances…”

Hawke listened to all that Isabela had to say, a deep-seated interest stirring as he tried to memorise each detail.

She knew very little about his background, save that he came from an orphanage that took the liberty of arranging foster-families for the children in their care. She also mentioned that the way the orphanage was run was less than welcoming and homely, and many children ran away simply because they could not stand to be there. She recalled several disdainful comments Anders had made in the far past about how it was run, and could only guess about the things that went on behind the walls of the orphanage new Lake Calenhad.

She knew he had been to a number of foster homes arranged by his caretakers, though she couldn’t say how many exactly. The reason why he had been moved so much eluded her, but knew that he had a difficult time in each residence, and Hawke felt himself becoming more and more annoyed at the fact he his information was still so full of holes; first with Varric, and now with Isabela – someone who had actually _known_ him, even if only for a time.

She was, however, able to tell him about what kind of person he had been back then. However troubled and angry he had been, he had still been kind. She told Hawke that the blonde’s affinity and talent for setting fires hadn’t emerged in Ferelden, as far as she knew at least, and that he had offered to patch her up more times than she could count when things went wrong on her end of things. He hadn’t been too deeply involved in things like drugs or alcohol, but had spent more of his fair share of time in various beds – Hawke almost though Isabela sounded impressed as she told him of these things.

Sometimes they fought about things as well. Anders had been some sort of marvellous idealist in those days – far from the person he was today, as far as Hawke understood – talking about the way things should be, how wrong the world was. He hated the way she could just tune out all the wrong parts of the world and enjoy herself, ignoring the bitterness everywhere.

Maybe it had been out of envy, she often thought in those days.

“The last time I saw him, he was heading up to Amaranthine. Said he wanted to go somewhere not completely full of dog shit.” Isabela said with a light chuckle.

“And you didn’t hear from him again after that?” Hawke raised a brow at her curiously.

“Nope. I left Ferelden a few months later. Spent some time fooling around here and there and then-”

“-And then you ended up in Kirkwall.” Hawke rubbed his chin a little, the strands of his beard scratching his fingers slightly.

“Hawke, I have to ask, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with…with everything. I thought you wanted the Qunari gone, we were a one mind with this, so what’s changed?” Isabela narrowed her gaze at him, not out of anger but more so out of concern. “Does it have anything to do with the shit that was going on in Lowtown before we got thrown in the Towers?”

“It’s starting to look that way…” Hawke tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

“You said that was unrelated though.” Isabela stressed the words as she tried to piece together things for herself.

“I did. And they are. The Tal-Vashoth and the Arishok can wait…” Hawke murmured. For a moment, he lost track of all his thoughts. Everything vanished from his mind save for one simple thought.

‘ _What the fuck is going on…_ ’

“Do me a favour, will you?” Hawke asked of Isabela, and she nodded quickly. “When you talk to Anders later, dig a little for me. Don’t tip him off or-”

“I know how to ask questions, Hawke.” Isabela mused and kicked his knee gently, smirking at him. The smirk sobered quickly. “I’ll try to find out something. But Hawke, a word of advice?”

“Hm?” Hawke moved to look at her again, and straightened when she gave him a stern look. “What?”

“Whatever you’re trying to deal with…whatever mess you found yourself in…get it sorted before it swallows you up. You’ve got a nasty habit of getting into deep shit.” Isabela’s words were sharp but were heartfelt in some way. Hawke had saved her, in a manner of speaking, and she was intent to stand at his back after all he had done for her.

She couldn’t do a thing for him if he were dead in the ground.

While they waited for the others to return, Hawke and Isabela discussed their usual business regarding their outside operations. Isabela had a lot more freedom than Hawke did, and she wasn’t watched as closely, so she mostly took care of his affairs and organised much of what was going on while Varric took care of the nitty gritty details of everything else.

They had quite a few people under their wing outside the Towers, but because their presence was lacking, some of them were fighting amongst one another and causing feuds when they should be focusing on handling the violent Qunari, the so-called Tal-Vashoth who cared little for the Arishok’s business and split away to form their own gangs. They were menace within the lower districts; one Hawke had been battling against relentlessly for some time.

At least until his attention had been diverted elsewhere.

Hawke and Isabela both looked to the door as their conversation wound up and another could be heard from the hallway outside. Whatever they were discussing, they were talking about it quite enthusiastically.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong about it. I find it quite cute.” Merrill’s light voice was full of laughter as she spoke, and she was the first to enter the room, with Anders smirking in step behind her and a grumpy looking Fenris tagging along.

“You must be joking.” Fenris spat the words as he rolled his eyes. “That… _thing_ is a monstrosity. You’d be better off getting it covered up.”

“No! I’m not going to get it covered just because you don’t like it.” Anders turned his head around and glared at Fenris slightly, though Fenris had no qualms glaring back.

“It’s ugly. I can’t believe you have the gall to compare that to my tattoos.” Fenris’ sneered with an unaltered look of disgust on his face, and Isabela laughed, drawing their gaze.

“You’re not talking about Ser Pounce-a-lot the Second, are you?” Isabela was laughing as she spoke, and the words were almost drowned out by that gentle sound.

“Ser what?” Hawke asked and gave Fenris a confused look. Fenris responded by tugging at Anders’ shirt – much to the blonde’s surprise and dismay – and lifted it up to show what could barely be recognised as a tattoo of a cat on the blonde’s hip. “Maker’s breath, what did you do to yourself?”

“Shut up! It came out alright.” A light blush crept over Anders’ face as he swatted Fenris’ hand away – although hesitantly – and pulled his shirt down.

“You got that done by a drunken scratcher; no one can say that it _came out alright_.” Isabela continued to laugh in her seat, holding her stomach all the while.

Anders made an annoyed whining noise has he handed Hawke a small bag that had what little decent food they had been able to barter out of the iron mitts of the cafeteria staff. He the promptly sat down and crossed his arms, unhappy at having been picked on for his supposedly fantastic tattoo.

He had to say it was amazing. If he did not, the regret he’d feel would be too much, and what little remained of his pride would not allow it.

Merrill moved to Isabela’s side after handing Fenris something to eat, and sat down at her feet and smiled at Hawke, offering a late greeting as she had been ushered out earlier. Isabela tussled her hair affectionately as she stood and tapped Anders on the shoulder, urging him to follow her across the room so they could speak at least somewhat privately

Hawke watched quietly for a moment, but turned his gaze towards Merrill. He smiled at her and asked how she had been in the Sister Tower. Things there were a little calmer than their Tower, or at least that’s what he understood from Isabela, and however strong willed Merrill was, he still worried about her.

Isabela had brought Merrill to his attention. Originally, Hawke had just offered her some form of protection at Isabela’s insistence, but she became a good friend to him in what little time they knew each other. Merrill had been originally arrested for trespassing, but it later came to light that she had murdered several people who had history in abusing the people living in Kirkwall’s alienage but…questionable means.

In the Sister Tower, they called her the Dalish Pariah, a witch cast out by her own people. Merrill, at times, was disturbed by this, but she remained happy with Hawke and Isabela supporting her as best they could.

After a time, Anders and Isabela returned to their area and rejoined the conversation, seemingly content in what little they had to catch up in. Isabela gave Hawke a sly look, shaking her head ever so slightly at the same time. Hawke tried to keep a straight face, but discontent began to brew in his chest.

He should have known that Anders would likely not open up to her very much. Whatever they were in the past, there was no way for them to really know what kind of a person he had become in the time he spent in Amaranthine and then in Kirkwall.

He would have to handle things as best he could until the following week, when Varric returned for his visit.

Yet every time he looked at Anders, smiling blissfully as he listened to Isabela and Fenris mock each other, he could not help but wonder…

He wondered even if Anders himself knew what was happening.

 

* * *

 

The security maintenance had been proceeding as scheduled. There were very rarely any delays, but it wasn’t as if it mattered. At the end of the day, the prisoners were secure – and thus far there’d only been three reported escape attempts, all of which handled according to protocol.

Aveline sighed as she set her phone down on the table she was taking her break at. Dawn was still a long ways off, and even though things were going according to plan, she knew that things might drag on for longer with the way some of the guards carried on about their duties. Slouching in her seat, she was hidden in the tiny booth as she sipped her coffee, hoping it would kick in soon enough and wake her up to get her going for the rest of the security check. Even though she had done it several times now, she still hated the unpredictability of it all.

 “Aveline.” A deep voice called to her from across the room. “Warden Alrik has called a meeting. You best finish your coffee quickly, he’s not in a good mood.”

“He’s never in a good mood, and when he is, it’s because he’s thrashed someone.” Aveline muttered and stood up and shoved her phone into her pocket. Gulping the last of her drink and throwing the cup in the trashcan, she followed her fellow warden down the hallway to one of the conference rooms reserved for such meetings.

Warden Alrik stood on a slightly elevated platform, and the officers lined up in rows before him ready to be addressed. Some people came in late as Alrik began to speak.

“For any who are late, merely pass this message along.” He began, and Aveline moue at the sound of the low, monotonous voice of his. “It is my duty to inform you that our commanding warden, Meredith, is undertaking a temporary transfer to our Sister Tower once the maintenance check has finished in order to establish firmer control over the inmates there.”

There were a series of murmurs that were silenced as Alrik cleared his throat loudly. Aveline’s frown deepened with every word that was spoken.

“Until Meredith returns to her seat here, I will be taking her place in the meantime. Rest assured that no changes will be made to the existing structure here at the Tower unless absolutely need be.” His voice had no special edge to it, but his words left Aveline on edge.

With Meredith gone…she was the bulwark against chaos in this place. Even if the prisoners despised her, most of them respected her on the basis she was doing her job as best she could while still trying to give the inmates some regard of respect – even if she personally did not think so at times. With her gone, and Alrik in her place…

The wardens were dismissed quickly, and Aveline left the room feeling stunned and unsure of what was to come. She would need to tell Hawke of this soon, though he would likely figure it out for himself by the time he got back within these walls.

Suddenly, as she was moving down a hallway back to the break room, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it free, and saw the unknown-number icon flashing across the touch screen.

Despite it being an unknown number, Aveline knew the caller intimately.

The dwarf always called her from a different phone.

“What is it?” She answered quickly after having checked that there were few people around.

“ _I think the world’s going to shit, because did I hear it correctly that Meredith transferred?_ ” Varric’s voice was hasty, like he was out of breath. This worried Aveline. Varric was never in a rush – not unless someone bad had happened.

“As far as I can tell, it’s true. Why, what are you on about?” She demanded to know, her brows knitting together as she heard the sounds of paper shuffling and the dwarf’s cursing. She impatiently hissed his name, needing a reply. She didn’t bother to ask how he knew about Meredith’s transfer. The man probably knew what she had had for breakfast that morning.

“ _Hawke wanted info on the blonde kid, remember? I found a few leads, but I haven’t been able to get my hands on his records._ ”

“What? I thought you had the records?”

“ _I have his records from Ferelden. It’s mostly foster-care stuff, records of who he was staying with, I have people looking into that now. What I want are his Kirkwall records – the police reports filed against him_.”

“And why can’t you get them? I thought you had eyes in the department?”

“ _I can’t get the records because someone mighty special pulled them entirely. They’re not at the department, not anymore._ ”

“So where are they then?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Aveline felt her blood run cold in that moment.

Whatever Varric was about to say next, she knew she would hate him for it.

“ _I assume in Alrik’s new office. And you need to get me a copy of them before the kid becomes the latest rumour._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay for this chapter! I had to move on Friday and spent a lot of time organising stuff, both before then and now. I thought I'd write something today since I'm likely to be busy over the next week trying to get uni stuff set in stone.
> 
> Anyways, to all you lovely people reading this, you're all wonderful, go have a great day and be safe! :)
> 
> Also super sorry if there are any outstanding errors I am so tired at the moment so proofreading might have sucked a bit.


	7. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter in style, if that makes sense? It'll make sense once you read it and see for yourself. Writer's block sort of bit me in the ass and this is the result of trying to work through that.
> 
> Also noticed that this story recently got over 1000 hits so thank you all so much for reading, thanks for the kudos, and thanks to everyone who takes the time to put in a comment c: So yeah. Thanks!

Aveline tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Hawke to arrive. It had barely been a day since the security maintenance had been complete, and that fact had her nerves standing on end.

What Varric had asked of her was near impossible.

Even so, she had to try.

And that meant sneaking into Alrik’s office – once Meredith’s, as she had escorted herself out of the facility yesterday evening – and finding one little record somewhere in there. What made that difficult was that in the first few weeks following a security check, the systems were almost like new and completely functional. The flaws would have been fixed to minimise blind spots and faulty wiring that occurred with age and use.

Even though Varric had assured her he had taken measures to ensure any footage of her on the surveillance systems would be have pre-recorded scenes on them, it still made her uneasy.

Her heart was beating madly in her chest, pounding against her ribcage as her stomach began twisting into knots.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t stolen records before. Varric had asked her to do it a number of times when she was working at the local police department. But here, the stakes were higher. If she wasn’t careful, she’d quickly find herself in the Sister Tower.

“Aveline.” Hawke’s voice was a low whisper as he slyly rounded the corner into their secret meeting nook and approached. He had a worried look on his face. That was to be expected. They met rarely and usually in a routine. Aveline had alerted Hawke they needed to meet in what was a predetermined emergency signal: the placement of a spotted black cloth slightly hanging out of a trashcan directly in front of Hawke’s cell block.

“I need you to do something for me Hawke.” Aveline began quickly, knowing that whatever time she spared now would be put to better use later on.

“What do you need?” His reply was immediate, and the look on his face was full of wilful determination, regardless of what she might ask.

“I need you to create a distraction outside. Something big enough to draw a lot of guards out of building. Warden Alrik in particular.” A brief questioning look appeared on Hawke’s face as Aveline said this.

“What for?” He wasn’t questioning her intention in the least. He knew that whatever she needed done would be necessary. But he needed to know why, regardless.

“Varric found Anders’ records. Alrik pulled them from the department, and it’s likely he has them on hand now.” Aveline explained quickly, her voice kept in the same hushed whisper as always when they met.

Hawke understood in that moment. For a second, he thought it wasn’t worth risking Aveline’s life and reputation for Anders’ record, regardless of what was at stake.

But then he remembered what was at stake. And the fact that Alrik, notoriously known for abusing his charges – in more than one way – and that certain people vanished entirely in his care, had gone out of his way to obtain Anders’ files was increasingly suspicious.

He did not know why Anders’ was of interest to the warden, but he knew he needed to find out, immediately.

“Give me an hour. I’ll get it done.” He said firmly and grabbed Aveline’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “You’ll have no trouble but…take care.”

“I should be telling you that.” Aveline smirked a little as she returned the familiar gesture, offering what little assurance to Hawke she could.

After a few seconds, Hawke nodded and dropped his head, releasing her and leaving in a quick pace. He had to organise something as soon as possible.

And he knew exactly what he needed to do.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had done all that he could in under an hour, as quietly as he could. The first thing he did was ask Fenris to keep Anders in his cell. The last thing he needed was to accidently implicate the blonde and draw attention to him.

He walked down the hallway of his cell block, footsteps echoing in the emptying hall, satisfied with what he had been able to muster. The other inmates were headed to the yard, beyond the cell block, in small groups and making excited noises, and Hawke made his way to a level above his cell block where he could have a good view of the outdoors.

He couldn’t be implicated in what was going to occur out there. The further away he was, the less chance there was of someone putting the pieces together.

He was confident that those involved in what was to come would remain silent about his involvement. In the early days of Hawke’s imprisonment, he had established himself. Several people had died by his hand in the first week of his sentence and he set the precedent of who was truly in charge of his cell block. Not only that, but he was well known for his reputation outside of Tower; the stories of the near unspeakable lengths he had gone to in what was a brutal two year gangland war in the lower districts of Kirkwall were told even in within the Tower walls. A stalemate had occurred since his imprisonment and shift in activities, but no one doubted he was still fighting the rival Qunari organisation that had embedded themselves in the under-city.

Hawke, however, had long since reassessed his priorities.

The Qunari were not the threat he needed to focus on, and neither were the Tal-Vashoth factions. They were predictable in a way, even if he did not understand the Qun. With Hawke out of their line of sight, at least for the time being, their activities had became less hostile.

The threat he focused on was the unseen one – the one he had yet to determined, but knew was lurking in the shadows.

He lacked the means to bring it to light himself, but with his companions, it wouldn’t not be an impossible task.

He made his way up the flight of stairs quietly, keeping out of the sights of the guards on their regular patrols, and stood before one of the many barred windows overlooking the desolate yard now filling up with people. Guards by the gates raised brows, turning to look at one another and shrugging. Hawke quickly recognised within the crowd the instigators he had given instructors to. They looked towards the window, and with one quick nod from Hawke, hell broke loose.

The first punch was the hardest hit, thrown by one of several instigators among the inmates. The crowd erupted almost immediately after a moment of confusion, promptly followed by the other instigators attacking their fellow inmates. No matter how well some of the prisoners become rehabilitated, there are others that crave bloodshed.

Those were the people Hawke had spoken to, the ones that were loyal to Hawke outside his regular circle of operations. The others in his group turned a blind eye to them.

They were not friends. They were a means to an end, and they understood their role perfectly. And if it meant they got to kick a few skulls and spill some blood, they didn’t care for who’s and why’s.

They cared about the deed, Hawke cared about the result.

And from the window, he could see the guards scrambling outside as the fighting got more violent and the crowd became a pit of people thrown back and forth, kicked to the ground and trampled over during the brawl. Moments later, Hawke heard the piercing scream of the alarm being sounded – a high pitched tone that echoed with a message of patrols to report to the yard immediately for inmate detainment.

“Time to get a move on Aveline…” Hawke murmured to himself as he watched the drama unfold. A part of him wanted to be down there, revelling and rioting.

He’d been too well behaved for some time.

 

* * *

 

The siren wailed and Anders sat up on his cot quickly. He stood and quickly moved to the door of his shared cell and poked his head out of the doorway, gazing down the long hallway of the cell block. Guards quickly left the area, leaving only two remaining, and inmates stirred nervously as they wondered what was going on. Far off, Anders could hear the rabble outside the building, screams and shouts – from inmates and wardens alike.

“Sit down.” Fenris called from his own cot. Anders turned to look back at the elf laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He wondered if he ever got tired of looking at the four walls of their cell.

For a moment, Anders was confused. He looked back out of the cell to the wardens urging inmates away from the exit, and the faintest glimpse of others running past the cell block gate.

“What’s going on?” He turned to face Fenris as he asked the question, raising a brow at him.

“And what makes you think I know?” Fenris replied as shifted his gaze slightly to look at the blonde who had moved from the door to the side of his cot.

“Well…you told me to come here with you. You know something is happening.” Anders smirked, feeling a little proud as if having caught the elf in a lie – even though no such lie had been told.

Fenris sighed as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot, standing up and moving into the blonde’s personal space. Anders took an instinctive step back, as he learned to do when he got too close. He yelped a little the back of his knees touched his own cot, and Fenris placed his hand on his chest, roughly pushing him onto the mattress.

“Stay. Put.” Fenris growled the words, narrowing his eyes into a sharp glare. In the brief moment before he pulled his hand away, he felt Anders’ body tremor slightly, and he resisted the smirk that threatened to overtake his face.

If he wasn’t careful, he may actually start to enjoy bullying him in this way.

 

* * *

 

Aveline was almost certain her heart was beating in time with the siren as she carefully made her way up the Tower. She was confident in what she had to do, in what she could do. But everything else was an unknown variable, and they bounced off the inside of her skull as she contemplated them all.

She had no way of knowing if Alrik had left his office or not. She knew well that he was as ruthless as he was ill-tempered, even though he had an outwardly cold demeanour. He would not stand for such barbaric behaviour in the Tower, and without Meredith to keep him in check, Aveline doubted that he wouldn’t want to see the inmates brought into line, by force if necessary.

But even so, there was still a possibility that he would remain. She rehearsed what she would say in her head if he was indeed still there; she’d say that see came to report the issue directly to him. That was believable enough, and given the urgency of the matter would not be looked into all that much.

Aveline took a quick look over her shoulder as she approached what used to be Meredith’s office. There was no one there, nor anyone at the other end of the hall, and she quickly ran towards the office. She hesitated as she reached for the door handle, taking in a deep breath and checking the area once more. Quickly, she opened the door wide. If she had opened it slowly, and he was within, that would not convey _urgency_ in any fashion.

But to her great relief, the office was empty.

There were a number of cardboard boxes lining the walls, overflowing with papers, and a hardwood desk that was centred in front of a window with the blinds drawn, filtering rectangles of light into the office. Aveline closed the door behind her and locked it, just in case. She quickly went to the boxes, flipping through them as quickly as she could while still consciously reading the title of the reports and files.

Box after box, she saw nothing relating to Anders. Most of it was in fact papers that had belonged to Meredith, and were of no use to her.

She moved on after ensuring the area was as she had left it. If Alrik suspected that someone had been rifling through his new office, more than just the sirens would be ringing.

Aveline yanked on the handles of the filing cabinets in the room and opened the drawers, scanning the files. Thankfully they were organised alphabetically, but she checked them all just in case Anders’ file had been labelled under something else, for whatever reason. Her only assurance that she had time to spare was the fact that the siren was still wailing and screaming, a sound that was beginning to give her a headache with its high-pitched echo.

As she reached for the third drawer, the handle buckled and she paused. She tugged it again, but it would not budge.

So something within was worth keeping out of sight.

But Aveline needed the key. She stood and pivoted. A key to a locked case. There were several places one could hide it. Her instinct took her to the desk, where she opened up the drawers and carefully moved items out of the way before putting them back in place.

And in the moment when she began to search the other side of the desk, the alarm stopped, as did her heart.

Aveline reeled back and paused, scanning the room franticly. She moved away from the desk, quickly looking around the office for something – anything. She searched the surface of the desk and the half open drawers quickly until something caught her attention.

And among those voices was Warden Alrik’s. Faint and muffled from far beyond the door in the hall, but she was certain of it.

In that moment, she had no time left, and acted purely on instinct. She moved forward to the door and unlocked it before promptly moving across the room and dropping to the floor, crawling under the desk and crossing her limbs in such a way that pressed her to the backboard of it while occupying the least amount of space under it.

She stilled her breathing, calming herself as best she could. She knew in her heart that she would be found there. It was a silly, cliché place to hide. She would have been better off behind the door and taking the chance of trying to slip out as they entered. Alas she was heavy footed at times, and lacked a natural sense of stealth.

She jolted a little as the door opened and a few people entered, speaking in agitated voices. She could hear shuffling sounds as items were placed either on the desk on near it.

“-nothing more than animals with how they carry on. They must think that with Meredith gone things will be easier here.”

“Well, let’s remind them that’s not the case. How many involved were detained?”

“Half? Less than half? The rest desisted when the wardens intervened and they went into lockdown with relative ease.”

“And those that began this little riot?”

“Questioning will begin once they’re secured in individual cells.”

“Good. If they don’t cooperate…transfer them to the House.”

“Sir, is that wise?”

“Wisdom is for old fools who curse the stars and bleat when things go awry. We have an opportunity to reform things here. Transfer the troublemakers to the House.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed. I need to address the yard patrols and find out how they did not stop this before hand.”

Aveline didn’t dare _breathe_ during the entire conversation. Listening to their voices left an unpleasant feeling in her chest and her skin went cold.

Yet another thing to worry about.

 After several moments of footsteps shuffling and unimportant comments, she heard the door close and the wardens walk away from the office. She heard no sounds within the office, but waited a little longer before slowly adjusting herself to move out from under it. She carefully peeked around the edge of the desk, and certain there was no one remaining in the office, heaved a heavy sigh of relief and stood, rubbing the space just under her collarbone as she tried to still her racing heart.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she winced as the reflection of light case from a surface caught her eye. She jolted her head back in annoyance and glared at the object, her eyes widening as she saw it.

“You’re kidding…” She muttered to herself as she spied the set of keys that had been slightly covered by a stack of paper. She reached for them, slipping them out from under the papers and moved straight for the cabinet.

She tried several of the keys, cursing each piece of metal when none of them worked, but a small bronze key fit the lock and she yanked the cabinet drawer open. She flipped through the files quickly, looking over her shoulder every so often just in case. Looking back, she paused as a file caught her eye, one that did not match the others.

It was in the format of the Kirkwall Police Department, where she had worked for a few years in the past whilst keeping her association to Hawke a secret.

She opened it, and immediately saw Anders’ name. She smiled to herself as she moved to the desk and quickly laid it flat. She did not have the luxury of taking it with her or the time to photocopy it – Alrik would notice if it were gone.

Instead, Aveline took a cell phone from her pocket. It was not one that belonged to her, rather one that Varric had conveniently left in her apartment to use for when she went to the Tower that morning for her shift. She took photos of each page as accurately as possible, making doubly sure to keep everything in its proper order.

As she flipped to another page, a name she saw made her freeze.

_Kristoff Justice._

She knew that name, knew the man – not well, but certainly knew him. A strange fellow that had come from Ferelden some time ago, but he was no native to that place; she knew that much by the accent.

Aveline had to quickly remind herself she could take her time with this later, and set the retired officer to the back of her mind and continued to photograph each page before neatly seating everything back in order and putting it away. She locked the cabinet and placed the keys back under the stack of paper, and wasted no time heading to the door.

She opened it slowly, and confident there was no one there, left and slammed the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

The Hanged Man is a dingy little hovel, a haven for miscreants and lowlifes seeking a little courage in the bottom of a bottle. Aveline wasn’t the most frequent customer there, but given all the time she spent wandering through the place and into the back rooms, it was almost like a second home. The smell of vomit and self loathing was so thick in the air that she almost felt as though she’d been transported into a different life, a different world.

Still, she nodded to the bartender, who turned a blind eye to her presence, and she continued on her way into the hallway that led to the backrooms of the bar.

She took a key-card from her pocket as she approached a locked door and pressed it to the scanning pad embedded into the wall.

Privacy was key in his profession, after all.

Inside, the dwarf was already waiting for her, but he didn’t greet her with the usual smile and sarcastic comment about hanging around with criminals. Aveline was in fact surprised to see him with such a troubled look on his face, with deep bags under his eyes from late nights with only coffee as his company, as he sat at the elegantly carved stone table. On the table were papers everywhere and the rest of his office was in relative disarray. Varric usually kept the room spic and span, everything in its rightful place. He very rarely let the place become a sty.

“I take it you’ve been hard at work.” Aveline said and shut the door behind her, ensuring it was locked.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Varric straightened in the padded chair he sat in and rubbed a hand across his face, sighing heavily. “Do you know how boring it is to read someone’s foster-care transfer history?”

“About as boring as it is listening to you whine?”

“You wound me with your words, Aveline.”

Aveline merely rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless as she took the phone out of her pocket and laid it on the table beside him.

“You owe me a pint.” She said and sat in one of the other chairs arranged at the table. She gently touched her temple, hoping that the headache that had formed earlier would die down soon. It was late at night, and all she wanted was to go home and fall into bed.

There was, however, no rest for the wicked – or their accomplices, it would seem.

Varric took the phone in his hand and dragged an open laptop from across the table towards him and connected the devices. Moments later, he had the images up on the screen to be viewed and carefully enhanced.

“Maker’s breath.” Varric groaned and buried his head in his hands. “This is going to take a while.”

“Do you have any idea why Alrik might have pulled these records?” Aveline asked as she tapped the armrest of her chair. “I mean…it just doesn’t really make sense. Anders has been there a while now and he hasn’t disappeared yet.”

“Yet.” Varric mumbled as he leaned back in the chair and closed the laptop lid slightly. “We still don’t know the half of what Alrik did with the others. If we’re not careful, Blondie will up and vanish like the rest of them.”

“Hawke’s doing what he can to keep an eye on him. Fenris is doing his part as well.” Aveline said with a slight smile on her face. It was rare the Fenris actively got involved with prison politics, but for Hawke, he was doing what he could.

“Really? That broody elf is pitching in?” Varric snorted as he laughed and he could not stop the weary smirk capturing his features. “Well…it’ll buy us time, at least. Let’s just hope there’s something in these records to give us a hint.”

“Varric…there was something that happened earlier. Something I heard.” Aveline began to explain, and when Varric gave her a curious look, she told him how she nearly got caught in Alrik’s office.

“Shit. Well, lay low for a while after that, okay? We can’t have you getting kicked out of the Tower, you’re our only inside access within the wardens right now.” Varric pressed his palm to his chin, cupping his face in his hand as he gave her a worried look.

Despite how they teased and bullied one another, they were still friends, in a sense.

“I know, I’ll be careful.” Aveline leaned forward in her chair a little. “When they entered the office…Alrik talked about an opportunity to send prisoners to someplace called _The House._ ”

“The House?” Varric repeated incredulously. For some reason, the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Have you heard of it?”

“Sounds like a brothel, if you ask me.”

“ _Varric._ ”

“Relax, I’m kidding. But it’s still worth investigating. If we can find out where or… _what_ that place is…well, we’ll find something at least.”

“Including the people from Lowtown?”

“At this point, let’s just hope they’re still alive. It’s been years since they vanished.”

A tense silence filled the air, disturbed only but the faintest, muffled shouting of the Hanged Man’s patrons. Varric and Aveline shared a knowing look. They were both tired, mentally and physically. For years they’d been chasing ghost stories and finding themselves in dead ends. Hawke’s arrest only made things difficult as their little crime syndicate began to crumble under their feet.

But they were getting information now. They were close to finding out what was really going on.

And that terrified them.


	8. Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally the lamest title I could've given for this chapter and I am sorry.
> 
> Also incredibly sorry that this is like...two weeks late. It sat half finished on my laptop for a week and a bit before coming back to it toward and yeah I am so sorry for that. Quick thanks to everyone who sent very sweet and encouraging messages about the delay via tumblr. I appreciate everyone's patience! <3 I am trying to keep some culture-themes from the DA universe and integrate some stuff in this au, which you might be able to pick up on as you read. Anyways, yeah, super sorry for what's below - and for what's to come. Yeah.
> 
> Enjoy, I guess? :)

With summer coming to a close, and the early autumn weather quick to chill the morning air, the world seemed to ease itself in a stale state of serenity. Those who could see the world in this way were the ones who did not have anything to do with the Tower or its occupants. The prison was always lively, for better or for worse, and no one could say there was ever a dull moment.

Aveline’s daily commute seemed to drone on forever, as it always did, but she arrived at the prison no later than usual. It had been a few days since her invasion of Alrik’s office, and since she hadn’t gotten wind of any suspicion on the old man’s behalf, but even so she remained uneasy. Varric hadn’t been in contact with her either, as their last conversation ended with him explaining a need to investigate several matters, some relating to Anders’ file, which she assumed he was still piecing together.

Upon entering the facility, she parked her car within the space allotted to her after having the vehicle searched, as per the usual procedure. The car park was used for employees and visitors alike, and even so early in the morning there were few cars around, as many carpooled in or arranged other transportation to save money on fuel.

Aveline tugged on her jacket and locked her car, beginning the journey across the bitumen while rubbing her bare hands together. She reminded herself to get some gloves before winter. When she looked up to pass through the wire fence that separated the car pack from one of the side entrances to the Tower, guarded by sleepy officials, her breath hitched at the sight of a familiar person taking the steps down and towards her.

She hadn’t seen him for perhaps a year, maybe less. He was exactly as she remembered him; though he was only in his early fifties, he was beginning to show the signs of his aging; the wrinkling around his eyes, the hollowing of his cheeks and the greying of once dark hair. He was still spry nonetheless. Just looking at him gave the impression of a man of respect and authority – someone who led by example and abided their principles.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and just as they had not that long ago, those near transparent blue eyes seemed to bore through her. He continued past her, and Aveline went on a few steps before pivoting on her heel and calling out to the man.

“Justice!” She called out to him without thought and the older man’s back stiffened in surprise before he turned, watching her approach cautiously. “I mean…Chancellor Justice.”

“That is the title now, I suppose.” Justice smirked with some bitterness as he nodded. To her knowledge, since his retirement from the Kirkwall Police Department, he had taken up an appointment as a senior advocate of victim’s rights in the viscount’s office. That being said, he was also an advocate for the fair treatment of criminals and accused persons – ensuring they received just and unbiased trials to make for proper sentencing. He was a voice of reason and, true to his name, justice in a circle of delegates when it came to revising legislation.

“You might not remember, but I served with you some time ago. Aveline Vallen.” She introduced herself quickly. While Aveline had indeed met him several times and worked under him, their meetings had been brief and few and far between. Even so, she knew all she did of the man mostly through rumours along the grapevine, all of which spoke well of him.

“Vallen? Ah yes. You walked the Darktown patrols with Donnic, did you not?” A wry smile took the bitterness out of his expression.

“That’s right, sir.” The memories Aveline had of those days were fond. Embarrassing, and full of hardship at times, but fond.

“A shame to see you working here, of all places.” Justice directed his gaze upward at the Tower. Modern and clinical, and intimidating to the uninitiated. “I can imagine it your days will only become more stressful.”

“You know about the new commanding warden, sir?” Aveline’s brows lifted in confusion. She had not been aware that Alrik’s ascension in rank had gone noticed in the outside world. Then again, news spreads fast in Kirkwall.

“Almost everyone in the viscount’s office knows. It was voted on recently.” Justice shrugged and shook his head and redirected his gaze to his feet. “Most of the blighted fools were in favour of relocating Meredith for the time being. Apparently her presence was required at the Sister Tower. Such nonsense.”

“But the Sister Tower is in need of stronger regulation, isn’t it?” Aveline could not disguise the worrisome tone that carried over in the word, and Justice looked on her with pity for a moment.

“There has been a lot of speculation regarding that, as of late. Regardless, a transfer was not the appropriate course of action.” Justice stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of the trench coat he wore. “As I hear it, your new commander is already beginning to meddle with perfectly reasonable regulations.”

“Wait, what?” Aveline narrowed her brows as her skin began to prickle. “Alrik’s altering our codes?”

“Alrik believes it to be the best course of action to ensure the safety of the wardens, despite the fact there have been increasingly few incidents over the last few years.” Aveline was surprised to see the man roll his eyes and scoff, as if Alrik’s actions were a personal insult. Given his nature and the office he held, it may as well have been.

“Were you here to discuss such things with him?” In his position, it would be likely that Alrik would have to appeal to him and the viscount’s council to go through with such reforms, though by the look on Justice’s face, he had done so without full sanction.

“Not originally, but I heard some of the wardens speak of it in passing.” Justice explained and sighed. “I’ve alerted the commanding warden to come before the council to explain his intentions. I hope he has good reason for it.”

“Then, if not for Alrik, what brought you here?”

“I came to see my son, if you must know.”

 _Son_.

The word echoed in her mind, and for a moment, just a moment, Aveline wondered. Had that been the reason she had seen Justice’s name in Anders’ file a few days prior? In hindsight, she wished she had taken a few seconds to look into that.

“I wasn’t aware you had a son, sir.” Aveline tried to brush back her surprise with a smile, and Justice laughed through his nose slightly with a soft humming noise.

“I adopted him shortly after arriving in Kirkwall, actually. Though that was several years ago now.” Aveline watched as what appeared to be a tender smile crossed his face. She had never thought such an expression capable on a man who was required to have a hardened heart a lot of the time. “He’s a foolish boy, really. Strong willed, but ultimately foolish. If I’ve any regrets, it is that I did not do more for him.”

“Sir?” Her tone was gentle and a little inquisitive. Justice’s expression softened ever so slightly as he regarded her, and he took his hand out of his pocket and extended it behind him slightly.

“Will you escort this old man for a moment? I fear I may be getting forgetful. You remember what my car looks like, right?”

“Of course, chancellor.”

Aveline looked over her shoulder briefly at the men standing guard at the door, and called out to say she would be helping the man find his car. They laughed for a moment, calling Aveline too kind for her own good, but said it would be no trouble regardless.

She turned and walked with Justice back through the parking lot, their pace slow as Justice breathed in the cool morning air.

“I will not lie, Miss Vallen. I’ve never had children of my own, nor a family. In fact, I think I am rather ill-suited for fatherhood.” Justice chuckled as he spoke, a sound she had never heard before. It was hoarse and deep, but gentle in a way. “But I am fond of my boy. I am proud to call him that.”

“Then…why do you have regrets about him?” Aveline tentatively asked, hoping he would not silence himself.

“Because even though there were times when I sated his anger for the world and its systems, it took another to bring out the kinder side of him. I can only say it is a shame that things turned out this way.” Justice spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice, and his expression became almost pained.

“Chancellor, I’m sure that you had an effect on him…” Aveline doubted the words herself, given what she knew about Anders. That being said, her views were biased, as she only knew what her reports would say. Justice recognised that doubt.

“I am certain I did, in some small way. But he relied upon himself, and found a kindred spirit who helped him in ways I could not.” The pained look on his face diminished a little as they approached his car, and Justice turned to face her as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “I can however, take some solace in the fact there are people looking after him.”

“The prisoners band together sometimes. They watch each others backs, when it suits them.” Aveline said and nodded her head in agreement.

“I wasn’t talking about the inmates.” Justice smirked at her, and Aveline froze before her former superior.

“Sir…I…” At a loss, she stumbled over the words. “I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

“Do you think this old man blind and deaf?” Justice continued to smirk at her, not with scorn but with amusement. “I am not unaware of the happenings in Kirkwall’s underground. I suppose you thought it mere circumstance that your friends were able to get away with such brazen acts of theft and aggression, especially after that kerfuffle with the Qunari some time ago. Did it not occur to you, at all, that someone knew?”

Aveline could only stand there, petrified by the fact that Justice – an official of an incredibly influential rank – knew of Hawke’s activities. Which implicated her and all the others as well, likely even Varric.

“I don’t understand.” Aveline narrowed her eyes a little. She did not demand answers of him – she still respected him, despite his apparent disregard for the crimes of the underground. It was bizarre to her; with all she knew of them the man…she would not have expected Hawke’s crimes to have been swept under a rug. “If you knew, then why did nothing happen?”

“Because I know that there is something dreadful going on in the Undercity. And I know that Hawke wants to put an end to it, no matter the methods needed to undertake such a task. In the classic sense, he is a vigilante, taking the law into his own hands. It is all rather poetic, wouldn’t you say?” The smirk on his face diminished into a tight, amused smile.

“How can you be so certain about his intentions?” Aveline could not help but ask. Despite her determination at times, despite her loyalty to Hawke, there were times in the past where she had questioned his motives. To hear Justice speak of him as he had, she needed to know how he was so convinced of his methods that he overlooked them.

“I’m not.” Justice’s smile was bittersweet, and he lifted his head to look at the Tower that was looming just beside them. “Look after my son. I fear for what he has gotten himself into.”

“Why are you afraid?” She drew his attention quickly, perhaps because she had asked the question a little too fast. For a moment, she wondered if he knew something. Something that Hawke’s merry band of misfits had missed. Something they had been searching for. But when Justice looked at her again, she could see no hint that he knew anymore than she did.

She only saw the gaze of an old man, a father, worried for someone he cared for.

“I fear because there are dangerous men in that place. Not all of them wear the same uniform.” Aveline could feel her stomach twist into a tight knot as he spoke. “Tread carefully, Miss Vallen. I certainly have had no such fortune finding out what plagues Kirkwall’s streets. I hope your friend can.”

“We can only hope…”

No more words were spoken between them, and Justice left the facility in the vehicle she had escorted him to. Aveline stood beside that empty parking space and looked up at the Tower.

The more she stared at it, the more worried she became, and the knot in her stomach tightened and twisted.

She could not help but dread the thought of going back in there, and being at the whims and mercies of something she did not understand with her whole heart, as she thought she had.

But if given the opportunity to do things differently, she would not.

She would still go into that place.

She was needed there.

 

* * *

 

Anders yawned as he walked back to his cell block, allowing the weariness he had felt earlier creep back into his bones.

He hadn’t expected Justice to visit him so early – or at all, for that matter – but was pleased to see the old man nonetheless. It made him forget about the nasty underside of the Tower, where his fellow inmates thrashed one another and groped each other as though it were nobody’s business. Seeing him again…it was the closest thing he had to normalcy.

When he returned to his cell, Fenris was still on his cot; hair tussled from a restless night of poor sleep. Anders practically tiptoed inside, not wanting to disturb him, and crawled back into his own cot. Another hour or two of sleep would not hurt, he mumbled to himself as he curled up under the thin blanket. The heat of it had gone since he had laid in it last, and he shivered a little as he hoped sleep would take him soon.

It did not however, and he could only lay there, staring at the space above Fenris’ cot with only half-hearted interest. The cell block had been dimmed, and even though most of the inmates were sleeping, few enough were getting up and shuffling about.

From across the cell, he could hear Fenris growl a little as one of the inmates of their cell block tripped and banged on the bars of the cell, causing a loud ruckus that resulted in several inmates shouting at the clumsy person.

“If they don’t shut up there will be fucking murders…” Fenris muttered under his breath, the words followed by soft curses. Anders snickered a little from his cot, doing his best to muffle himself, and trying harder when Fenris directed his next comment at him. “That goes double for you.”

“Sorry.” Anders apologised, the word interrupted by yet another chuckle. After a few moments, Anders was surprised to hear Fenris speak again.

“Where did you wander off to?” His voice was quiet, however deep it remained, and the elf restrained a yawn that threatened to slacken his jaw.

“Aw, did you miss me?” Fenris only made a noise of disgust, and Anders laughed again before deciding to answer him. “I had a visitor.”

“This early?” Fenris looked at him with a brow raised. “Who the hell visits a prison before the sun is even up?”

“Stupid old men, that’s who.”

“I didn’t realise you were into stupid old men. It suits you, though.”

“Oh, shut up. It was my father.”

“…Really?”

Fenris almost didn’t believe him. At the same time, it wasn’t as if the blonde had anything to gain by lying to him. Anders shifted and sat up in his cot a little, running a hand through the loose locks of hair that had gotten longer since his time in the Tower.

“Well…he’s not actually my father. We’re not related.” Anders continued and dragged his hair away from his face.

“He must care for you a great deal then, to visit a criminal that isn’t even of his blood.” Fenris said after a moment.

Anders did not reply, as if he barely believed those words. It was still a foreign concept to him – that Justice still stood by his side, despite everything. There were no doubt a hundred things that the old man had to concern himself with. He would not have considered himself among them, after the things he had done, both before and after the brief period of estrangement between them prior to his arrest. He often tried to convince himself that it was out of some sense of responsibility or duty of care. That he was obliged to look after him.

The alternative was something he was unfamiliar with entirely – and he still didn’t know how to go about accepting that.

“You were from Ferelden originally, right?” Fenris’ voice brought Anders out of his wandering thoughts. His head jerked up at the words, and he narrowed his eyes a little in thought.

“I was. I left when I was young, though.” His reply was stiff. He didn’t like talking about his time in Ferelden. He could barely tolerate thinking about it most days. He had done well to bury the memories of that land away where he would not have to look upon them. In doing so, he felt as though he were breathing life about into those he had left behind. And those that had left him behind.

“Did your family die during the blight? Or whatever it was.” Fenris asked with a raised brow. It was an innocent enough question. To Anders, Fenris was simply curious how he ended up in Kirkwall. Fleeing Ferelden due to the blight – a severe sickness that had swept through the southern part of the nation some years ago – would have been a simple explanation.

If only things were simple.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Anders scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair some. “I don’t know where my family is. Don’t want to either.”

“You and I have something in common then.” Fenris’ voice was jaded and bittersweet, and was a response Anders had not expected. When he looked at Fenris closely, he could see a clouded look in his eyes, a mixture of what was no doubt a sense of longing and yet a desire to forget. It was something Anders understood well.

To his knowledge, Fenris had supposedly spent most of his life in prison. Little enough was known about him, and his family may as well have been nonexistent in the eyes of many here. Anders wondered though; what kind of family might he have had before the system became his life? Hawke had made a vague mention of the slave trade of Tevinter some time ago – something Anders still dreaded thinking about.

His thoughts began to swirl. Had Fenris’ own family treated him as a slave? Had he been sold as a child? Or had he merely been torn from them, and never found later? Fenris stared at him in silence from the corner of his eye, watching a disturbed expression shift across his face. He sighed heavily and sat up, sniffing as he rubbed his thumb and index finger over his nose.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.” He said and ran his hands through his hair, which was sticking out in several places. “Your face is your only redeeming quality. Don’t ruin it with such a nauseating look.”

Anders could barely focus on the backhanded compliment Fenris made. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably on his cot, no longer able to make eye contact with him.

“So…what happened?” He asked cautiously after a moment, nervously lifting his gaze back to Fenris, who was stretching his lean limbs, a tanned body arching and bones cracking quietly.

“…To them?” Fenris did not even address his family with a name, or called them as such. It was telling to Anders, who regarded his own similarly in the past. Whatever had happened, Anders knew that Fenris felt as though he had been wronged in some way. If he was to understand one thing about him, it was that, and it would not have been possible if not for his own unfortunate experiences early in life.

“Hawke um…told me a little. Just that you were from Tevinter and uh…” Anders fumbled over the words, and before he could make sense of what he was trying to say, Fenris scoffed with a small smile.

“That says it all then, doesn’t it?” The words weren’t unkind, or bitter in any sense. Rather, he said it matter-of-factly, but sharply with an underlying tone of distaste regarding the matter.

“Right. Um, sorry.” Anders apologised quickly, knowing he should not pry into his cellmate’s affairs. It wasn’t his place, nor should it be.

Fenris stared at him silently for a moment before sighing and ran his hand through his hair in one last ditch effort to subdue the mangled locks into a more tame position, to no avail. He rubbed the back of his head, and after another moment, opened his mouth to speak.

“No, it’s not that-” Fenris cut himself short, swearing under his breath. His memories were muddled enough as they were, trying to put them in order – trying to acknowledge all that had happened – it agitated him. “It’s a long story.”

“Better not tell it then.” Anders mused with a smile. It wasn’t as if he were expecting him to tell him, rather he was trying to lighten the somber mood that had seeped into their cell. “I’m very busy. Lots of important things to do.”

Fenris stared at him dully for a moment before a smirk began to dig into the corners of his lips, and he had to look away and rub the lower half of his face and he muffled a short laugh. The blonde had him there. They sat in silence as Fenris tried to remember the last time he had spoken about it. It surely had been some time, maybe a year or so, maybe more. He recalled telling Hawke had some point, but could not remember when. Before that…he had been much younger.

“How much do you know about Tevinter?” Fenris asked to begin with. Anders recalled that Hawke had asked him something similar not too long ago, in a dodgy attempt to reassure him that Fenris would not, in fact, kill him. The bearded man had been right, thus far.

It still baffled him that the elf had not gutted him in his sleep.

“Not a lot, really.” He answered truthfully. Hawke had been quite vague when they spoke about it, and his comments hadn’t been very enlightening. Fenris sighed a little and shifted a hand into his messed up hair, scratching his scalp.

“Well…it isn’t a good place for elves. And I don’t mean that they live in slums or…like the Dalish, I suppose. In Tevinter, it is common place that elves are kept as slaves.” Fenris spoke slowly, as if unsure of the words himself. “I did not think anything was wrong with it, in my youth. My mother told me it was better than the alternative – as if there was one in that place. My… _master_ was my caretaker, after all. Fed me, clothed me. I should have been _grateful._ It’s sickening to think it is normal there, and even more so to think I had accepted as much back then.”

“What changed, then?” Anders asked gingerly, not wanting to anger him. It was evident from the look on his face that his words were an oversimplification of the hard truth. Anders was certain he could talk for much longer, and in greater detail, if he wished.

But he did not, and Anders was content to listen to what little he wanted to say.

What little he could bring himself to say.

As he had spoken, Fenris’ voice had become increasingly bitter. His expression softened at the sight of the naïve concern on Anders’ face.

“He had business in Seheron. I was separated from him after an attack had been made on the governing house. I do not remember much of it – or much before it thankfully.” He replied, shifting on his cot slightly. “I lived on the streets for weeks, hoping he might walk by and find me.”

“And did he?” Anders asked after a moment, worried that that was in fact what had happened.

“No. I remember waking up one morning in a strange place. The people that had taken me off the street were a gang calling themselves Fog Warriors. They fought against the rule of the Tevinter and Qunari forces trying to claim the island. They were a rebel force, either feared or loved.” As he explained this, a brief memory appeared in Anders’ mind. Something he had heard on the news some time ago. The memory carried no real meaning, merely a mention of the rebel force of Seheron – something that was applauded as they fought against the seemingly imperial foreigners. “They asked me where my parents were, and when I told them of my Tevene master, they became quiet, and looked on me with pity.”

“Because you…were a slave?” Anders spoke very quietly, and expected some kind of tongue lashing at his brazenness, but Fenris gave a solemn nod.

“Yes…I spent a year with them, and in that time they made me see the truth. They helped me understand that all of what my master had done was wrong, that I was not a possession of his. I did not believe them at first, until I met others like myself.” The bitter expression he had before returned to the elf’s face. “I felt filthy, as if I carried a disease by default of existence. And knowing that my family had accepted it, had even encouraged it…”

“How old were you when this happened?” Another innocent question, one that made the elf pause.

“I…I don’t believe I was any older than fourteen.” He explained. “I should be thankful I learned then. If I had known any later…it would have been difficult to try to move on.”

“So…how did you end up in prison?” Anders tilted his head as he asked the question. “I mean…I’ve heard that you’ve been in prison since a kid but…”

“After a time, I met my master again. He had come all the way to Seheron to find me, his precious _pet_.” Fenris scoffed after spitting the word, as if it were something foul in his mouth. It likely was. “At first…I felt as though I should have gone with him. He was all I had known my life. My family was with him. I didn’t know what else would lie ahead.”

“You didn’t actually go back with him.” Anders asked incredulously, but given how Fenris paused, his expression changed. “Did you?”

“I was close to. Some of the Fog Warriors were there at the time. They refused his claim on me, and reminded me I was not his for the taking.” The sour look on Fenris’ face slowly disappeared as a dark smile replaced it. “When he laid his hand on me, tried to force me to return, I cut him open. I used every ounce of strength I had to open his chest and take his heart from his body. I was surprised to find he even had one.”

“Well…I can’t say he didn’t deserve it.” Anders tried to resist the laughter that tried to escape.

“He deserved more than that, but I can take solace in the fact he no longer lives.”

“Who was he, by the way? You didn’t mention a name.”

“The name is not worth saying.”

“Ah, so…were you caught? After it happened?”

“Not right away. I left Seheron shortly after. The Fog Warriors had enough to deal with, and I did not want them implicated in what I had done. It took me a year to get this far into the Free Marches, and I was arrested shortly after.”

“You were running for a year?”

“Some have run for far longer, but yes. After some…incidents at the juvenile facilities, it was determined I would be sent to the Tower when of age.”

“Were you the kind of kid who beat up their bullies?”

“I was the kind of kid who demonstrated what got me arrested in the first place.”

“Oh…ew.”

Fenris released a short laugh, quickly restraining himself as he smirked at the blonde. Anders was still trying to get used to the sight of him smirking. He had seen it a few times since the first, but it didn’t seem to sit right on his face somehow. It was a crooked smirk in some ways. Or rather he was still getting used to it.

“And what about you?” Fenris deflected the attention back on the blonde, who was taken aback by his question.

“What?” He replied idiotically, as though he hadn’t been listening, even though he had.

“What about your dark, grisly past? You were sent here for arson, right?” Fenris raised a brow at him. It was more than a little out of place for someone to be sent to the Tower for something that could be deem a misdemeanour when compared to what many others in the Tower’s cells had done.

“Yeah…” Anders confirmed the fact slowly. He had not spoken about the Courthouse incident with anyone – save his lawyer – since its occurrence. “It’s…not that glamorous a story in comparison.”

“Being a slave sounded glamorous to you?”

“What- no! No, I didn’t mean that, I-!”

“I’m teasing you, moron.”

“You…I probably deserved that one, anyway.”

“You did.” Fenris leaned back until his back hit the wall, continuing to smirk at him. “But go on. I’m listening.”

Anders was quiet for a moment, and he fiddled with his fingers as he wondered where to begin. To give the short or the long version, he wondered. He had only spoken about his past with one person. Justice had already known, so there had been no need with him.

He wondered what Fenris might think. It wasn’t as if his story was worse than Fenris’. The elf had him beat when it came to which system failed them most.

But when he looked at Fenris again, who was sitting there quietly with a patient look on his face, he didn’t think much of it.

At the end of the day, it was the past, and no matter how much he despised it, it would not change.

“I bounced between families, as a kid, you know. Foster care and all that.” It was a clumsy beginning, but the tattooed elf didn’t seem to mind. “They weren’t…a lot of them didn’t care much for a troublesome brat. I was angry because…I don’t know. Because I’d been given up and left behind or…just angry, I guess.”

“What about your family? Your real parents?” It was his first question regarding it, and Anders’ face softened as he tried to recall them.

“I don’t really remember. I remember the farm we lived on though. It was hell during summer. I was so dehydrated once I thought I saw a dragon nesting in the rocks in the fields. Turned out it was just a huge lizard covered in red dirt.” Anders laughed quietly as he recalled the memory, and lowered his gaze to stare at the ground, a warm look of affection on his face before it slowly faded. It was the fondest one he had – and the only one that remained in his mind – after so many years. “I don’t know how I ended up in foster care. People told me that my father thought I was a menace or…I don’t know. By the time I was ten I was handed over to Ferelden to deal with.”

“How many families did you stay with?” Fenris asked simply, and Anders made a small humming noise as he thought.

“Seven…eight? More?” He shrugged as he replied. “Whenever they told me I was being transferred to a new household…I guess I just stopped caring after a time. It wasn’t like I spent a lot of time with any of them.”

“Why were you shifted around so much?” It was a simple question, as the others had been. Anders didn’t think much of it. For Fenris…well, it would be something to pass on to Hawke, at least.

“The foster care system isn’t exactly up to scratch in Ferelden. They didn’t do a lot of investigation into care households, at least not back then.” Fenris was surprised by the disgust in Anders’ voice as he spoke. Though he was yet to see the blonde angry, given by the dark look stirring behind his eyes…he knew that he was holding onto some old anger, even if he wished it forgotten. “I remember one place…the people there weren’t able to have kids of their own. Sometimes I think there was a not so normal reason for that. But they were so happy to have a son until they realised I wasn’t going to be the precious little guy they wanted.”

“What then?” Fenris urged him to continue. He had learned his lesson about holding onto anger a long time ago. It would be better for the blonde to say it, sooner rather than later. As he watched Anders fidget and touch his fingers, he knew it wasn’t pleasant in any sense.

“I had to be in their care for at least twelve months before any claim of returning me could be made. There had to be good reason, and they had to make attempts to resolve any issues before a claim could be made. So while they waited…they kept me in a closet. No windows. Had locks fitted to the door so I couldn’t get out. They even bolted the vent down so I couldn’t crawl out. If I was ever loud…if I ever asked to be let out, they’d strike me across the back, so the marks were out of sight if I ever need to make an appearance somewhere. Can’t see the scars much anymore.”

“How long did that last…?” Fenris wasn’t sure how to continue. Stories like that, they circulate around all the time, in all corners of the world. He hadn’t expected to hear one of them come from Anders.

“I…I’m not sure. Could’ve just been a few weeks or…longer than that. I got really sick from…infection and other things. When they took me to the hospital it came to light. It got buried by the foster care agents. It would have created widespread panic and investigation to the hundreds that had been in their care. Couldn’t have negative media attention and all that bullshit.”

He said the words with relative ease despite the way his voice trembled with a restrained anger. Fenris could not help but think on the first part of his words, though.

He knew enough from his time in prison what solitary confinement could do to people, even as adults. People can become so disorientated they lose track of time, lose track of themselves even, among other things.

Despite how well Anders seemed on the surface, he did not want to think about what that could have done to him. Or what else what been done. His own experiences were enough to live with. Anders not doubt had lived with his own – and was able to function that way, somehow.

“How did you meet Isabela?” Fenris asked quickly in an attempt to cast the topic aside, not out of disregard, but simply so that Anders did not linger on it. The way his expression continued to darken, sadly so, was not forthcoming of a healthy state of mind.

“The same way everyone meets Isabela.” Anders said and chuckled half-heartedly, a tight smile on his face. “Half drunk on Maker knows what in the backroom of someone’s house party.”

“Well, I can’t say that doesn’t sound like her.” Fenris laughed a little with him at the thought. He should have known better that that sort of introduction was to be expected from the Rivaini woman. He had almost had a similar encounter with her during their first meeting during a security check not even a year ago.

“She was a bad influence, in some ways. But…she was a good friend.”

“I don’t think a good friend would allow you to get that monstrosity on your hip.”

“You need to back off Ser Pounce-a-Lot the Second.”

“Why _the Second_ , anyway?”

“Ser Pounce-a-Lot – the first that is – was a cat that I kept for a while when I started avoiding my caretakers. He disappeared one day. I think a dog ate him.”

“How very…Ferelden.”

Anders laughed a lot louder than he should have, and he quickly covered his mouth to silence the snickering that made his ribs hurt and his shoulders shake. Fenris held back a pleased smirk as he shook his head and lay back down on his cot, trying to get comfortable.

Silence fell as Anders slowly stopped laughing. Neither was certain if they should say something, although neither was entirely uncomfortable in the quiet around them.

And it continued that way, despite the shuffling and murmurs heard outside their cell. They didn’t need to talk. They had said their piece. They were comfortable sitting in silence, knowing that they understood each other, even if only a little more than they had before.

For the slightest moment, Fenris almost felt guilty at having asked him the questions he had, knowing that he had done so only to pass the information onto Hawke. It was deceitful, and he couldn’t entirely place why he cared.

He looked at Anders carefully from the corner of his eye. The blonde was still sitting upright on his cot, gazing at his lap with the tiniest smile on his face as he traced faded scars on his hands.

There was so little Fenris knew about him. At first, he hadn’t cared to know. But things were changing – Anders knew things, either knowingly or not, and was involved in something larger than they knew. Hawke was trying to uncover what it was. Hawke had asked him to help however he could. That was all it had been about to begin with. But now, Fenris was curious about him. Or perhaps intrigued was a better word for it.

He wasn’t sure what would be uncovered, if anything ever came of Hawke’s plans and Varric’s sly investigations.

And a quiet thought crept into the back of his mind, one he didn’t fully acknowledge, or maybe didn’t really want to.

He hoped that Anders would not have the misfortunes of the Tower fall upon him. Many had succumbed in the past, both within those walls and that of the Sister Tower. Maybe someone was enduring it as he lay there, staring at the blonde. Whatever shady business was going on…

He knew it would not end by hoping.


	9. Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (again) for the slower update. I will try to work on the next segments asap!

Meredith was undoubtedly feared in the Tower. This was heavily reinforced by her no-tolerance protocols in regards to the prisoners, and how quick she had been to implement the appropriate punishments in accordance to their sentencing. She was strict and unkind, but was known to act within the lawful limits and abide by the codes of conduct set by the council of Kirkwall. But the new commander, Warden Alrik, was feared for a different reason. He lacked the same intents as Meredith, and with a background dipped in politics and sciences. Despite being an educated man, there was something deeply unsettling about him; a strange glint to his eyes, almost vacant and elsewhere in thought, but watching.

Always, always watching.

With Meredith no longer present, the inmates had expected at least a few of the wardens to become slack in their routines, resulting in less severe restrictions and perhaps even a chance of leniency if one of them were somehow out of line. However, Alrik had seen to it that this did not happen. The only regulations he had put in place were to alter the practices of the warden in how they dealt with the prisoners, and a few had noticed a change in faces of those patrolling the Tower’s halls and prison blocks.

The Tower is by nature a rowdy and otherwise hostile place, but whenever Warden Alrik marched the halls, seemingly immaculate in his uniform with a smug smirk and narrowed eyes, the inmates seemed to silence themselves as he passed, averting their gaze as they did so. They hoped they would not draw his attention, not while the inmates whispered about where his sights were set. Few allowed their gaze to linger or talk openly; either too proud or merely not caring enough anymore.

Everyone, save the new inmates who arrived in twos and threes every other week, knew the rumours. The lucky few who didn’t know were beginning to witness it for themselves, the same slow string of events that had occurred at the Sister Tower. Anders in particular looked on curiously as stone-faced wardens would drag people through the halls out from their cell blocks to some other part of the prison, often taking a few moments to beat a rowdy inmate into submission before continuing on their way. Some whispered they were taken to be pets, especially now that Meredith’s was no longer about to micromanage every aspect of the Tower. Others murmured about darker things – things they only repeated in quiet corners, in soft voices and mocking sneers. Whenever Anders had asked Hawke, and even Fenris at times, what was happening, a troubled look would overtake their features and each muttered the same response.

_Just keep your head down._

Hawke watched over his cell block more openly. He would lean against the walls closest to the entrance, staring through it whenever Alrik’s patrol would pass through. As the bald man stopped in the doorway to examine the cell block, Hawke would openly greet him. Some thought he was challenging Alrik’s authority – that he didn’t recognise him as the new commander. But rather, it was to keep Alrik’s gaze from wandering towards one of the back cells, where Anders was being distracted with meaningless banter by Fenris if both of them were within the area at the time. Alrik would sweep the cell block with his eyes before turning on his heel and leaving, apparently content with its standing on that particular day.

When he left, Hawke would wander down the hallway, passing Fenris’ cells on his way to his own, and Fenris would slowly and naturally wrap up whatever conversation he was having with Anders. At times, they mostly shared ridiculous anecdotes about their pasts, having slowly over time become more familiar and casual with one another. This alone was the subject of curiosity for many inmates – primarily because Anders had, and was continuing, to set the benchmark as the _longest survivor_ of that particular cell. Some had even taken to placing bets with one another about how much longer until Fenris finally decided that he no longer held some regard for the blonde.

The thought of this, however, was becoming nothing more than an annoyance to Fenris. While he felt obligated to aid Hawke by keeping an eye on Anders, it was no longer as taxing a process as it had previously been. Anders was beginning to show him some genuine respect that replaced the dying fear that only lingered when Fenris was becoming agitated for whatever reason. In turn, Fenris was considerably less hostile towards Anders.

Hawke had even joked to Anders about how the degree of threats passed his way was much kinder than what they had used to be – despite the frequency of which the elf insulted Anders to his own amusement. The way that the blonde became flustered and pouted whenever Fenris made a successful jab at him or his pride was by far some of the finest entertainment he could have without having to watch a brawl over a joint in the yard.

And unknowingly, he began to keep track of the blonde with much less reluctance. If Hawke asked him where the blonde was, an answer was given without the old disdain the mere thought of Anders’ had once carried. Hawke would smirk at him, but say nothing else as he left in search of their new companion. Fenris would think to himself, it was because he was used to him after so long, or perhaps that being angry at him was more tiring than he could be bothered to be any longer – and that would be that.

He didn’t busy himself with other thoughts of why and how.

Anders himself began to see Fenris in a different light. The old fear he possessed of the elf that had developed due to the hostile air that seemed to loom around him, and the demeaning fashion Fenris would look on others with. But after learning more about who he was – after learning what he had done to enter the Tower, while not in exacting details – that fear faded slowly, day by day, a week or two, and it was more akin to an old memory, present but mostly forgotten. It wasn’t so much that he no longer thought of Fenris as person capable of foul deeds. It out of understanding of what had driven him to such acts, and the knowledge that such a thing had shaped him into who he was, along with his prison time. Had his own life turned out differently, he would have been in a similar situation no doubt. He was in a sense comforted by what little knowledge of the elf he had, knowing that the things he knew gave reasons behind his first impressions.

And because of this, he felt more…at home, for lack of a better word. More at ease. He felt comfortable strolling the halls of the Tower, having slept easy and not wondering if there were eyes lingering on his back. He chatted openly with other inmates, joking with them and at times rough housing with some of them for fun, a tussle ending with laughter and mockery towards the loser – which was Anders himself more often than not.

Since being in prison, he had dropped quite some weight, but the clinic doctors had assured him he was still relatively healthy – all things considered. His slim form was ill-suited to rough play, unless he was able to put himself into an advantageous position, something not so attainable when his opponents were slightly shorter and bulkier and had no qualms head-butting him to the ground. It was all in good fun, however, but Anders often cursed himself later. Speaking with others had given him a much friendlier reputation in the Tower, and he had developed a few acquaintances that openly called out to him and chatted to him about nonsensical things.

Content was all he could be – if he dipped his head and allowed himself to fall into the same despair that plagued his thoughts and left him wanting to go without meals and sleep, it would do himself no good. He took Hawke’s advice to heart, keeping from certain individuals and avoiding certain places.

Fenris would at times tell him not to engage with particular inmates during varying times of the week – making vague mentions of drug deals that occurred within the prison – a warning that was quickly followed with a threat that if he dabbled in such things, or brought anything back into his cell, something unsavoury would happen to him. Anders heeded his words, at one time offering to pinkie-swear on it, before being chased out of the cell and laughing until his ribs ached. Such tomfoolery became pivotal to getting through a single day, as another reminder of the Tower’s underbelly would remerge to swallow his good spirits.

Ignorance is bliss, but it is blinding, and Anders had dropped his guard almost in its entirety.

So when eyes followed his back, he did not feel the same unease he had in earlier weeks.

When wardens would whisper to inmates around corners where he stood with others, peering around the hallway with a cold indifference, he didn’t think to look over his shoulder.

And when he strolled the halls back to his cell block alone, he did not walk with a hasty gait; no longer did he fidget, anxious to return to what could only be called a refuge.

He was content.

He was blind.

And the target on his back only seemed to grow each day.

 

* * *

 

He was more tired than he thought usual. Despite having had a full night’s sleep, it had been somewhat restlessly, and Anders felt the weariness in his body. It might have been from the small tumble he had had the previous day, when Fenris had kicked him out of the cafeteria after he had made a bad joke about cheese. It had been some poor pun he had heard back in Ferelden in passing on the street. He can’t remember how he had come about hearing it, or the context the joke had been made in, but he had never forgotten it.

He wasn’t entirely sure, but whatever he had done, he thought it had been worth it. Even if he had been a little hungry that morning.

Anders yawned as he sluggishly sauntered out of the cell block, keeping his head low as the wardens stood guard at the entrance, as always. Sneaking a glance at them just before leaving, he noticed they were not the regular personnel, but it did not alarm him. The new commanding warden had been making all sorts of changes to the rosters, or so he had heard Hawke say.

A little lightheaded due to his empty stomach, Anders made his way to the cafeteria and quickly scooped up something to eat before sitting in the slightly empty hall. Many of the inmates were still asleep, as it was just before the usual wake-up call issued by the wardens. There were a few lingering souls, sitting hunched in small groups and eating in silence, but Anders spared them little thought as he mindlessly inhaled the morning meal.

He always found it eerie, the silence of the cafeteria hall. The silence of some parts of the Tower in general, actually. Whenever he looked outside the barred windows, staring at the high concrete walls with barbed wire circling the tops, he could not help but think out far away the outside world was becoming to him. How everything out there seemed to sleep in comparison to the world he lived and breathed now.

And sitting there in that silence, he began to think about that world and what it once held for the first time since his early days in the Tower. In the first week, he couldn’t help but remember all the liberties he had in doing the simplest of things. The things he had taken advantage of. It disturbed him, how distant his own memories were becoming.

He hadn’t forgotten, not in the slightest. He could still remember the smell of dark black coffee that filled his crummy apartment in the Undercity every morning, a scent he at first didn’t like waking up to, but became familiar with it over time. He could still remember the sound of traffic on the streets he walked down in the middle of the night. He could still remember the feeling of his fingers moving down the edge of a lighter, and the feeling of a hand taking it from his grasp, followed by a voice telling him not to. A voice that had been both smooth and sharp, stern in its kindness.

And remembering these things, and realising how he easily he could have forgotten them, made him lose his appetite, and he swallowed the last mouthful of his half finished breakfast as if it had suddenly gone foul in his mouth. A bitter, tired look fell over his face as he pushed the tray forward and away from him. He held his head in his hands, trying to force the thoughts from his mind, not wanting to dwell on what he could only call a happier time.

“Blondie.” Anders jumped as a pair of hands fell down on his shoulders, squeezing them playfully, as per usual. Anders tilted his head up, looking up at the broad man standing over him with a grin that peeked out through a growing beard.

“Morning Hawke.” He replied, his voice cracking a little in the middle. He paused to clear his throat as Hawke moved to sit beside him, sitting backwards on the bench so that he could lean his elbows on the table and stretch his legs out and raise them to rest on the opposite bench.

“Fenris wasn’t in his cell earlier. You see where he went?” Hawke asked as he looked at Anders’ sideways, smiling at him as warmly as ever.

“He was gone when I woke up.” Anders said quickly, a curious look forming in his eyes. “Why? Something happen?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Just gotta talk to him about some stuff. You know. Business things.”

“Right. _Business_.”

Anders had learnt early on that when talking to Hawke, _business_ either meant _someone needs an ass kicking_ or that something was occurring outside the Tower relating to his own personal gang affairs. It was rarely the later, as such conversations were restricted to Hawke’s visitations. Hawke usually took care of such matters on his own, but liked to speak with Fenris about them in case something went sour and he needed aid – though he rarely did.

“Well, if you see him, let him know I’m looking for him, ‘kay?” Hawke’s smile widened into a smirk, and Anders laughed a little.

“Sure thing.” He said swiftly, and Hawke playfully tapped his shoulder with the back of his knuckles.

“Good lad.” The bearded man mused with a smirk, and stood up to leave the room, but not before reminding Anders to finish his meal.

Anders watched him leave with half hearted interest before he turned his gaze back to the half eaten food. He couldn’t bring himself to finish it, his appetite gone. He picked up the tray to dump on a counter for clean up, promptly leaving the area afterwards. He suddenly felt like crawling back into his cot and sleeping for the rest of his sentence. It would’ve been much easier.

Content for the moment to do so, he sauntered back the way he came, eyes downcast and ignoring his surroundings.

At least, up until he felt something linger behind him, a silhouette in the corner of his eye. The further he walked, the longer it lingered there, tracing his steps into the cell block. As he continued to feel that presence there, he became more agitated, and began to glare at nothing ahead of him in annoyance.

“What do you want?” Anders eventually spat as he turned his head, but he wasn’t able to get a good enough look at the inmate behind him.

They moved quickly, as if trying to duck out of his sight, and Anders turned around fully only to be blinded a moment later. As something solid struck the back of his head, Anders let slip a cry of pain as he stumbled forward; quickly falling to his knees as someone kicked the back of his legs.

Black spots danced across his vision as he rolled on the ground, trying to bring himself to his feet. Dazed and still tired from the morning, he tried to look up at the person standing above him, ready to kick his skull in, but saw only a blur of movement. The sound of inmates yelling far off, either in approval or disgust, was faint and muffled by a sharp ringing noise in his ears.

His body moved on its own accord as the inmate moved to strike him, leg reeling back to be brought down to kick him in the side of the head. Anders rolled, the boot of the man narrowly missing his head, and he scrambled backwards to try and bring himself upward. He felt something warm dripping down the side of his neck to stain the collar of his shirt and jumpsuit, blonde hair becoming bloodied as it oozed from the cut on his scalp.

He ignored the pain as best he could, trying to focus on the man before him, still more akin to a blurred mass than a man.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Anders shouted breathlessly, his eyes slowly beginning to focus again. He felt as though everything in his body had been knocked out of alignment somehow, and stood in a jittering pose as he readied himself to defend against the prisoner.

The inmate said nothing, however, and rolled his thumb over what he had struck Anders with – a metal pipe, likely pulled from a maintenance hall somewhere. Anders had heard such stories of people in prison going so far as to dismantle things for weapons. Hawke had even discouraged him from doing so some weeks ago when he asked about such rumours.

He had little time to think about it as the inmate, a lean man but muscled enough to carry a brute strength of their own, dashed forward to swing the metal pipe at his head. Anders ducked, the pipe banging and bouncing off the bars of the cell door he had leaned against. Without missing a beat, Anders shoved his weight against him, hoping to knock him off his balance enough to get him to the ground. The inmates tumbled, but not without latching onto Anders with his free hand and dragging him down with him.

Anders once again made a hasty attempt to back away as he drew himself up, but he felt someone shove his back once he was standing, and was pushed towards the inmate rising to his feet. He looked over his shoulder, and a group of their fellow prisoners had formed around them, readying to encourage the brawl. Anders quickly remembered the last time he had brawled – properly brawled, not merely fooled about. The wardens had been quick enough to break up the fight.

But when Anders cast his gaze over the shoulders of the inmates yelling and jeering at him, he saw no one standing guard by the door. The shift that had been on patrol when he left was gone, and Anders could only assume they had left to allow the next rotation come by, although this was against the standard protocol. That was just common sense. You should never leave your post until the next rotation comes.

He quickly turned his attention back to the inmate behind him, and cursed himself inwardly for having distracted himself. As he turned, another strike was being made, this one he could not avoid.

The metal bar, however thin and flimsy it seemed, struck the side of his head with a force that brought him to his knees, blood filling his mouth quickly. He coughed, spitting the red fluid onto the floor, the taste of copper and iron covering his tongue and making him cringe.

He could hear the shuffling around him, and forced himself to his feet.

He had to remain standing – at least until the wardens showed up. He would willingly be dragged off at this point. He’d even be willing to listen to that damned princely priest lecture him about his behaviours and whatnot.

Anders didn’t want to be a spectacle. Things had calmed down for him, at least relatively speaking. He didn’t want to fight.

He just had to wait.

 

* * *

 

Fenris sat outside, sitting on the steps leading outward to the yard. The morning was cold, but he felt at ease in the quiet, and allowed himself to indulge in that silence freely. With his mind racing, being somewhere quiet, with few people about to disturb his thoughts, left him able to think a little more clearly.

The subject of his troubles, of what made him seek solitude to sift through his thoughts, as Anders.

Or rather, more specifically, Alrik’s fascination about Anders.

Since Aveline’s discovery of Anders’ file in Alrik’s office, it had been no secret to Hawke and himself that the old man had his sights set on the blonde. This had become even more apparent with his daily, routine patrol past the cell blocks, each time beginning and ending with their block. At first, he had been a little reluctant to go out of his way to ensure that Anders was out of sight whenever this occurred after the first, when both he and Hawke and seen the disturbing way that Alrik’s eyes lingered on the blonde who blissfully chatted with some inmates in the area. But when they realised Alrik was doing it purposely, as if stalking his prey, he did so earnestly.

Inmates had already disappeared in the Tower. Aveline hadn’t yet been able to discover where they were where, not without raising suspicion. If Anders were to disappear, to become another of the rumours…

Some part of him despised the very idea, and so he would not allow it.

The doors leading back into the Tower behind him opened and he heard someone release a heavy sigh as they trudged down the steps to sit beside him.

“There you are.” Hawke murmured as he sat, groaning a little as he did so. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Oh? Don’t I feel special.” Fenris mused softly, a tiny smirk forming on his lips as he said so. Hawke chuckled for a moment and rubbed his hands together. The silence from before quickly turned after a few short seconds.

“Are you worried, Hawke?”

“Of course I am. There’s been no word for Isabela. Or Merrill for that matter.”

“They’re probably just keeping a low profile while Meredith is over there.”

“Isabela isn’t the type to keep a low profile. You and I both know that.”

“…This is true. But they’re able to handle themselves. Don’t forget about your other business.”

“Right. Speaking of, how is Blondie doing? Anything new to share? He didn’t seem well this morning.”

“He seems well enough, though he has been mumbling in his sleep as of late. When we talk, he doesn’t speak much of his time in the Free Marches.”

“Hm. Well, let me know if something interesting comes up.”

As if prompted by some cosmic force, the doors of the entrance way slammed open, banging against the wall as someone dashed out and knelt by Hawke’s side. Fenris sat upright, watching as the person whispered into his ear. Hawke had several informants within the Tower, those that were tasked with the duty of bringing him news.

As Fenris watched Hawke’s expression darken by leagues, he felt his stomach knot unpleasantly.

“I take it back.” Hawke said as he stood up, and Fenris with him. “From now on, tell me something so boring I fall asleep.”

Despite the snark in his voice, Hawke had a deathly serious look in his eyes, and he quickly turned to enter the building again. Fenris followed at his heel, moving to his side when his pace picked up. Hawke quickly relayed what the informant had told him – of a brawl in their cell block, instigated for seemingly no reason, against Anders. A chilling feeling crept over their skin as they considered the reasons behind it.

Alrik had made his move, decisively while they had both been absent. It wasn’t yet time for his patrol. That meant he had taken other measures to watch them, to find that opportune moment. Hawke mentioned he would have to inquire about that with Aveline at some point. For all their sakes, Fenris hoped the fierce woman would have answers for them.

As they entered a corridor that led off in various directions, Hawke paused to turn to Fenris, taking something from the inner sleeve and slipping it into the elf’s hand.

“Take care of it.” Hawke said as he squeezed Fenris’ palm, ensuring the item was safely in his grasp. “I’ll get you some time. Hopefully.”

“Hurry then.” Fenris replied, nodding his head as he took the item and kept it concealed in his hand before parting ways with Hawke, making his way back to the cell block as Hawke dashed off in another direction, followed by the informant.

As Fenris approached, he could hear the commotion, and the shouting of the inmates who eagerly watched the early morning entertainment.

 

* * *

 

Anders could no longer breathe properly through his nose, not without the possibility of choking on his own blood. He stood, although barely, with blood dripping down his face and the front of his jumpsuit. The inmate attacking him was in a similar state, the metal bar bent in several places from having been smacked against the walls and barred cells as Anders narrowly evaded his attacker.

From time to time, he was forced back into the fight by those standing around. Someone had even grabbed him from within their cell, trying to pin him against the bars so that the inmate attacking him could have an opening. Anders had only gotten free by kicking forward and struggling enough until he fell to the floor, the metal pipe swinging into the cell and startling the man who had tried to restrain him.

They stood opposite one another, breathless and shaking in pain and from the adrenaline coursing through their veins. Anders had been able to land several significant blows – his time on the streets of Ferelden not wasted – but he truly had no knack for fighting. He was an arsonist. Not a murderer or someone with a heavy assault record. The most severe fight he’d even gotten into had been a drunken fist fight Isabela when he was a teenage back in Ferelden, right before he left for the Free Marches.

Anders knew true enough that the idea of time slowing down in dynamic situations was a lie. If anything, time sped up. Things moved so quickly it was beyond conventional comprehension. He had to act purely on instinct as one blow came after another, kept on the defensive as he tried his best to evade the attacker. It was all he could bring himself to do, with no rage in his belly to make him seethe and fight fiercer.

He could only defend himself at the least, and wait for a proper opening. Unlike his fight in his first week, his opponent was a lot slimmer and faster. He had less of an advantage here, even less so with his head still aching terribly, often distracting him. The blood dripping down his face and into his eyes didn’t help either.

He blinked several times and quickly rubbed his brow, hoping to clear his vision. In doing so, the inmate before him leapt forward, swinging the bent pipe down. Unable to properly dodge, Anders lifted his arm on instinct, his hand wrapping around the metal and absorbing the blow. The pain in his palm was almost shattering, and it continued to radiate through his arm as he yanked the pipe out of the slim man’s grasp to cast it across the floor, where it disappeared between the legs of those in the crowd.

Anders cradled his left arm to his chest, fingers twitching and the palm turning red. The pain in his hand burning fiercely, and seeing him in that state – with that opening – the opposing inmate threw his weight against Anders, knocking them both to the floor and the air out of Anders’ lungs. The crowd back away in response, keeping a firm barrier around them.

Anders lifted one of his legs, roughly throwing his knee against their stomach to try and knock the person off his body. He lay on his back, lifting his right arm to grab the throat of the inmate and hold his weight of his body, with the left remained at his side, shaking and throbbing. A hand fell down to his face, a thumb trying to dig deep into his eye socket, and Anders shook his head about to keep himself from going blind.

As he tried to fend off the inmate, as he tried to fight back as best he could, he could feel his mind beginning to grow quiet, tired and weary and aching. He struggled to keep the darkness out of his vision, struggled to keep himself conscious as the weight above him seemed to become heavier and heavier.

And suddenly, the cheering around them became quiet as the weight on his chest disappeared in all but an instant. Silence fell, aside from the sounds of muffled movement, and a yelp of pain. Anders lifted himself on his elbows, raising himself enough to see what had happened.

And the sight made left him breathless and stunned, eyes wide in shock as his chest rose and fell heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

Fenris moved as if carried on air, swift and quick and with a strength that never seemed to be his own. The elf clutched the hair of the inmate who had attacked Anders, dragging him away from the blonde and tugged his head back until the side of his neck was exposed.

And then Anders saw it. Something small and thin and sharp in his palm, and it slipped between Fenris’ fingers as he gripped it tightly before burying it into the inmates neck. Blood spurted from the small wound it created and landed on Fenris’ clothing, staining it immediately as it dripped and soaked it. The blow was followed by a short cry of pain that was silenced by another strike, this one digging deeper, twisting into his neck.

One last strike was all it took for the body to go limp against Fenris’ side, sagging against his legs as the shiv cut against the elf’s own hand as he delivered that last blow.

There was a tense silence as Fenris lifted his gaze to stare at the crowd that lingered quietly in the cell block hall. Green eyes that were cold and indifferent, marking the readiness to fight against those interfering in what had previously been established as Hawke’s interests. Those that had been cheering on the fight dared not moved, dared not to even breathe. Their eyes were directed to one place, the bared neck of Anders’ attacker, with only three bleeding but jagged wounds.

Fenris loosened his fingers until the inmate’s hair slipped from his fingers, and the body fell to ground with a loud thump, lifeless as blood pooled on the floor and around him, the dark red adding colour to the grey cells. He took a step forward, followed by another, until he stood at Anders’ side, continuing to stare at the crowd.

“Get up.” Was all he said, words meant for Anders, who remained on the floor, eyes fixated on the dead man laying only a meter from him. When Fenris repeated his words, Anders’ snapped his head to the side to look at the elf, who stood as a dominating force beside him.

On shaking limbs, Anders brought himself upward, leaning heavily on his right side as his body threatened to curl in and collapse on itself. He staggered behind Fenris when the elf walked forward, keeping behind him and walking in toe as the crowd parted to clear the way for the Little Wolf of the Tower.

Once clear of the cell block, and into a relatively empty hall, Anders slumped against the nearest wall, smearing a little of his blood against it from his clothing as he groaned in pain. Fenris stopped to look at him, and didn’t think to waste a second. He grabbed the blonde by the arm, lifting it upward until it could rest on his own shoulder and pulled his weight up, supporting him as he drew him away from the wall to continue walking. It became clear to Anders eventually from the direction they were heading in that he was being taken to the infirmary.

But that fact seemed of little interest as his feet failed to take him more than a few steps without some pain in his body flaring up and causing him to grit his teeth and hiss. His mind was inherently focused on that pain with each step. Fenris remained silent, pausing at times to allow him a brief respite before marching on.

Anders felt utterly numb, more mentally than physically. He should have been thinking about some very important questions; why had he been attacked, and to what end? For fun? Out of boredom? But he didn’t think about them. There was one question on his mind that rose above the cursing thoughts of agony.

“Why…?” The word was quiet, soft and hoarse and almost inaudible. Fenris heard, however, and tilted his head to look at Anders, who was slumped against his side.

“Why what?” He pressed him on it in as kind a manner as he could muster in that moment.

“Why did you…?” The sentence died on his lips, and Fenris sighed a little. He was unsure of what was being asked. Why did he kill him? Why did he intervene? There were a number of ways that question could have gone.

“Should I have let him kill you?” Fenris asked, a surly frown curling his lips as he hauled Anders down the hall. There was a brief silence before Anders made his quiet reply.

“Thank you.” Breathless but sincere, Anders murmured those words against Fenris’ shoulder, becoming silent thereafter to focus his remaining energy into moving his feet. The blow to the back of his head was slowly getting the better of him as the adrenaline in his body petered out and left him trembling and tired.

Fenris could not bring himself to make an answer of any sort, and directed his attention forward as he continued down the corridor, walking at a pace that Anders could shamble to as he held his weight up, taking him to the clinic to be patched up as best the doctors could.

The unpleasant knot in his stomach that had formed earlier only tightened, and Fenris scowled at the fact that the blonde managed to worry him so with how quiet he quickly became, a stark contrast to his usual babbly self.

But he could feel the warmth of his breath skimming just over the top of his shoulder, and he could feel the fast beating of the blonde’s pulse as he held the wrist of the arm draped around his neck.

Small, tiny signs that he was still alive.

And in that moment, that was enough.


	10. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter than the last few chapters, but I like it as it is. The chapters always seem so short on here in this format when compared to the word doc format. Anyway, quickly want to say thank you to everyone for your continued interest in the story and for commenting and leaving kudos and such! The Tower is now over 2000 hits soo...thank you! <3

Before Anders had even arrived at the clinic, he had fallen unconscious. When he awoke next, it would be in the dead of night within a locked room, with only a dim table lamp adding some light to the enclosed space. He lay on his side, covered with a thin blanket and with a towel of some kind under his head, where some spots of dried blood had soaked into the fabric. Sitting up was painful, his whole body shaking as he forced himself upright. He tried twice, failing the first as he had done so too quickly and immediately felt disoriented; his vision blurring as he fell back onto the bed and utterly a low, trembling groan. He tried again moments later, succeeding that time as he moved slowly instead. He felt two things before anything else when he began to focus on his body; the sharp pain surging through the back of his head and neck, and the way his hand felt tight and restricted.

At first, he didn’t understand. It took him several long moments to remember what had happened that caused him such agony.

The fight.

The memories flooded his tired mind, and while parts of it he did not recall properly in that moment, he understood a few things well enough. That inmate had wanted to kill him, and had Fenris not intervened, he surely would have. That only left him sitting in utter silence, a chilling and unwelcome feeling sweeping through him. What an unceremonious end it would have been, dying in his own blood in prison, where his body would likely have been toyed with before being dragged off…

He shook the thoughts from his mind, and instead tried to focus on the now, on his shaking, sore body.

Looking down at his lap, he saw that the palm of his left hand and some of his fingers had been wrapped tightly with bandages, supported by a piece of thin but sturdy plastic in the middle to keep his hand mostly immobilised from the wrist up. Using his uninjured hand, he very gently touched the bandaged appendage. It was tender to the touch, and Anders’ grit his teeth at the unusual stiffness and pain he felt when he so much as tried to move his fingers. He was sure he was on some kind on anaesthetic or pain killers. Whatever pain he felt no doubt paled in comparison to what he _should_ have been feeling.

Letting the injured hand rest in his lap, he lifted the other to his face, feeling the small patches on his cheeks where the cuts on his face had been cleaned and covered. As he slowly ran that hand backwards into his hair some parts covered by bandages that wrapped around his forehead, he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth as he felt something strange on his inner cheek. Stitches of some kind, likely dissolvable. Remembering how he had bled from the mouth some time ago, it didn’t worry him too much when he noticed this. Touching the back of his head resulted in the sweeping sensation of that dull pain from before, only a little sharper, harder to shake off.

He wondered how much he had bled from the wound on the back of his head. When he looked over his shoulder, he could again see the spots of dried blood on the towel over the pillow, and hoped that had been the worst of it. But that was unlikely, especially when he felt so woozy and lightheaded. He slipped his hand free from his hair and rested his forehead in the open palm, rubbing the side of his forehead with his fingers, hoping to ease away some of the pain that was flaring up now that he was conscious.

The sound of soft click however caught his attention, and it made his head jolt up reflexively. He cursed as much, as the nerves in his neck tingled unpleasantly, and he rested his hand on the skin as if to smother the pain, though that did little for him. Flicking his gaze back to the source, the door that was being unlocked and open, he saw a silhouette slip through. The door was closed behind them, and shut again.

At first, he didn’t recognise the person. Uniformed and with a strong build, and an upright posture that screamed of authority and pride in oneself. The person, likely a warden, turned to move into the room and approach his bedside. Anders looked at their face and began to group together their features to join them to a memory. He had seen her around several times, briefly and in times of little to no importance, but could not bring a name to the immediate moment. The woman stood by his bedside, looking down at him with inquisitive although ultimately suspicious eyes.

“Anders, right?” Her voice, however soft, was still solid and powerful in its own way. Anders swallowed hard as he regarded her, not knowing what was to happen next.

“Are you, um…here to interrogate me or something?” A crooked smirk formed on his lips as he spoke, his voice hoarse and cracking in the middle from a sudden nervousness before the…out-rightly intimidating woman.

“No.” She said simply and sighed a little. She opened her mouth to speak, but failed to find the right words, and lifted a hand to move it about in front of her as she contemplated what to say next. “I’m…a friend, of a sort. I guess. I’m…I work with Hawke.”

“Hawke?” Anders immediately repeated the name, curious about what she meant. Given all that he knew of the man, it shouldn’t have surprised him to know that he had allies of a kind within the wardens. But he was exhausted and still dazed, and it was more than a little unexpected.

“Yes, Hawke.” She said and moved to drag a chair away from the wall to sit down near the bed. “He asked that I check on you. Make sure you were still breathing, and all.”

“How sweet of him.” Anders mused, and winced as a tight feeling in his chest made him silenced himself. “So, you are?”

“Aveline.” She replied, and her green eyes travelled across his features, scanning the bandages on his face. “How are you feeling? Not too battered up?”

“Well. I am alive. That’s more than I can say for…” Anders wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Either for lack of his assailant’s name or because the fact he was now dead was something he had not yet had time to comprehend in its entirety.

Aveline said nothing further on that note, and brought the conversation in another direction.

“You’ll be released from the clinic in a few days. I won’t be on your guard rotation after tonight, so…try to stay on your guard.” The warning was brief but succinct. And it unsettled Anders more than it should have.

“Why do I need to be wary? I should be safer here than in my own cell block after that.” Anders refuted her comment, brows knitting together as he looked on her with doubt. There was a deeply troubled look in her eye, one that could be easily missed with how stiff her expression seemed in the moment, but it was there nonetheless. And it made Anders’ blood run cold.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that the wardens hadn’t intervened during that…scuffle? At all?” Aveline asked, rhetorically of course, because it was obvious that such a thing was suspicious in and of itself. Anders looked away for a moment, remembering how he had glanced at the entrance to his cell block and seen no guards running to break up the brawl. When he looked back at her, that troubled look had gotten even more intense.

“What are you saying…?” Anders asked despite himself. A part of him didn’t want to know, but the other part was screaming for an answer.

“…I don’t know, really.” Aveline said honestly as she looked at her feet, rubbing her hands together in her uncertainty. She remembered what she had heard Alrik speak of in his office, of the House and of the occupants – of which she was now certain were from the Tower, even though she had no proof of such. “The new Commanding Warden has been making changes. I’d like to say I knew to what end but…”

“But I just need to keep my head down, right?” Anders repeated what both Hawke and Fenris had told him at one point or another. The words echoed in his mind, something he had not taken seriously at first, but after that fight…he was now convinced on the need to.

“I’m not sure that will be enough.” Aveline muttered under her breath, and Anders was fortunate enough to not have heard her. “For now, just…keep close to your friends. Hawke likes you. I think even Fenris is starting to come around.”

“Well, he’s certainly not threatening me as much lately.” Anders breathed out and Aveline laughed, a wide smile cracking the stone-faced expression on her face.

“He put up quite the fuss when the wardens took him away from the clinic to be questioned and punished.”

“My knight in an orange jumpsuit.”

“ _Knights_. Hawke was there too. They were pretty intent to stick around until lock up. And even then they were reluctant.”

“They didn’t…get into trouble, right?”

“No. Well, Fenris did, but he _did_ kill that man. I can’t believe he had the audacity to be surprised when the wardens wanted to question him.” Aveline sighed, an exasperated look replacing the smile. “I mean, what did he think was going to happen? He should know better by now.”

“You sound like a mother hen.” Anders couldn’t help the comment, smirking at the idea of the ginger haired woman fussing over grown men. Considering the fact he had seen Hawke do some rather childish things in his time there – among them being the time Hawke had dragged his bed-set outside because he wanted to nap outdoors – it didn’t surprise him.

“Those boys will get themselves killed sooner or later. That even Isabela is still kicking it in the Sister Tower is beyond me.” Aveline shook her head, but the wide smile from before slowly returned. As much as they infuriated her at times, she did love her friends, for better or for worse. Even if she had to put up with Varric’s poor taste in jokes at times. The fact she was still hanging around, snooping about the Towers and watching out for them was proof of that.

A brief but not unwelcome silence fell, and in that short space of time, something occurred to Anders. He had considered it briefly beforehand when it had come up in the conversation, but it had swept away in the moment, only to return now. He lifted his head, opening and closing his mouth a little as he debated whether or not to ask.

“About…Fenris,” he began unsurely, but words soon quickly fell from his lips. “What happened to him? After, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh. There’s a procedure that happens when a prisoner kills one of their fellow inmates.” Aveline began to explain, leaning forward in her chair and moving her hands in circles as she spoke, as if to emphasise her words. “They’re detained for a short period of time, questioned – all that rot. Fenris has a…record of a sort when it comes to things like this. I mean, it’s a short record, but still. At this point, I don’t even think the wardens can be bothered dealing with him. It’s not as if they can extend his sentence.”

“Has it already been maxed out?”

“After he broke a warden’s arm and shanked three cellmates? Yes. There’s even a hazard board in our break room titled ‘ _how many days since a Little Wolf incident._ ’”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm. A few of the wardens were even making bets about how many more days until it happened.”

“Did you make a bet?”

“Me? No. Joke as they will, Fenris can be a serious troublemaker, when he needs to be. You know that well enough now.”

“I suppose I do.” Anders murmured, thinking back on the way Fenris had stood over the body of the inmate, covered in his blood. His mind was still groggy, but he remembered the look in Fenris’ eyes in that moment. There was no pleasure in bloodshed, no desire for more violence, no overabundance of rage and disgust. But there was anger in those eyes, deep and burning and simply there. He wondered why, really, but decided it wasn’t worth thinking about much longer. He would probably forget it by the morrow.

Aveline sat in silence as she watched Anders lower his head in thought, fidgeting with his hands unknowingly. She smiled a little more, and stood from her seat. Anders lifted his gaze when she did so.

“You should try to get some more sleep. The wardens will want to ask you about what happened.” She said and Anders slowly nodded his head, looking back down at his hands.

“Right…right.” He lifted in uninjured hand, rubbing his face a little.

“Anders…a word of advice?” She made the offer, and when Anders lifted his head and nodded after a moment of silence, she continued. “Don’t make trouble for them. Just tell them what they want to know, and no more. You’re technically the injured party, so…”

“I understand.” Anders said, and Aveline could not help but feel some pity for him when she saw the pained, all too weakened and tired look in his eyes. “I know how to lie in these situations.”

The words carried a little more weight than they should have. She knew that Anders had never had the blood of another person on his hands – at least, none that she or Varric had yet found out about – but even so. The words carried an edge to them, a bitterness of familiarity with such a situation. Anders slowly hung his head once more, resigning himself to stay awake to consider what he would say to the wardens the next day. Aveline parted from the beside, returning the chair to where she had taken it from, and moved backwards to the door. She paused for a slight moment, looking back at Anders as she unlocked it once more. Staring at the way there was still blood smudged on his face near the edges of his bandages, where the blood had only been half-heartedly washed away, and the lengthening hair that fell in front of his face and cast shadows over his features…

For the slightest moment, she was reminded of the fact that despite his own lack of innocence, he truly had been a victim in this matter. And not of fate, or of circumstance.

And it infuriated her to know in her heart who had been behind the attack.

 

* * *

 

Fenris had barely slept. In the three days that Anders had been in the clinic, all the confirmation he had that the blonde was well enough was Aveline’s brief reporting from her first visit, and her subtle inquiries thereafter. The clinic area was now guarded more intently, and inmate access was restricted more than what it should have been – which meant neither Hawke or Fenris could enter to check on Anders themselves. He wasn’t all too certain why he was concerned. The blonde idiot was probably safer there than he was anywhere else in the prison.

Probably.

The lack of certainty regarding it was beginning to drive him mad. Hawke had managed to find out why the wardens hadn’t been present in the cell block at the time of the attack. They had been drawn away towards an area down the hall, conveniently far enough away that they would not have heard the commotion. Fenris knew instinctively who was behind it.

It was the same person who had failed to show up for his regular patrols past their cell block. That bald bastard Alrik.

Even thinking his name made Fenris sick. His lower lip curled upward, a sneer forming as he contemplated how such an assault had been planned and carried out. The fact that Hawke’s informants had not known even the slightest whisper of it was a serious matter. New wardens had been coming into the prison, and they could only assume it had been to keep whatever Alrik’s plans were under wraps. Hawke was even investigating through Isabela if these new wardens had in fact come from the Sister Tower, or had been employed there at some point.

It didn’t help that every time he walked through his cell block, he remembered the striking image of the arsonist covered in his own blood on the floor, weak and shaking and afraid. Anders might not have known, but Fenris had seen _fear_ in his eyes; the silent wavering of ones spirit, faltering and unsure, frozen and exposed.

And he had unwittingly allowed such a thing to have occurred. If he had remained in the cell block where he should have been…if he had known…he felt angry at himself knowing that he had done something so carelessly, knowing that Alrik had set his sights on Anders. He had counted on Anders sleeping in for that morning, but he hadn’t.

Something in him was determined to see the blonde live through the ordeal, out of spite of Alrik if nothing else. But he wondered still…

Why?

At the end of the day, it was a lot of what ifs and hows and whys, and it made his head throb painfully to think about it.

A small echoing of murmurs in the cell block pulled him from his thoughts, and when he sat up to investigate what nonsense had caused the gossipers to emerge, his eyes widened and an unexpected wave of relief washed over him as a familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway of his cell.

Anders stood there, leaning his weight on one leg and with a weak but cheeky smile despite the fact his left arm was bandaged from the palm to his elbow. His eyes looked hollow, tired and anxious – no doubt from all the eyes that landed on him once back among the prisoners. The blonde hair, that once hung around just millimetres above his shoulders, was tied and kept in a loose bun, although flyaway strands fell in front of his eyes.

Fenris noticed quickly how pale he looked in comparison to when he had last seen him. He wondered if it were out of exhaustion or concern of returning to the cell block. From the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, shoulders drawn in and arms held close to his side…he was nervous, obviously, and not without reason to be. Fenris began to think of things to say; something to comfort him, if only a little? For whatever reason, it bothered him to see the blonde so…unlike his usual, annoying and talkative self.

“You’re awfully inconsiderate, Fenris. You didn’t even send me flowers while I was away.”

Fenris rolled his eyes immediately as he stood, moving to stand in front of the blonde who was smirking to himself more genuinely, amused by himself. Fenris thought to chastise him, but stopped himself. He would allow him that much for now. He didn’t want to cause him any unnecessary grief after what he had dealt with.

“You don’t seem like a flower type of person, really.” Fenris said with a light chuckle, and Anders laughed softly as he rubbed his stomach, as if the act pained him to do so. “Are you well?”

“M’fine-”

“You were struck with a metal pipe several times. _Twice_ in the head.”

“Good thing I’m hard-headed, right?”

“Stop joking.” Fenris snapped a little, his eyes narrowing at the blonde. When he saw how Anders flinched, he reigned himself back and took a deep breath as he rubbed his temple, staring at the bandages of his arm again. He briefly wondered if the blonde was in pain at that time, considering how he held the injured arm to his chest. “Well, if you can make such stupid jokes, you must be alright…”

“Thank you.” The words caught him off guard. Fenris looked up at Anders, who steadily held his gaze. There was no wavering of the blonde’s confidence in that moment, as he earnestly matched Fenris’ stare. There was no follow up, nothing else said. There was no need to. Fenris knew what he was being thanked for. For having saved his hide. While he had done it with Hawke’s backing…he was certain that if he had been there, he would have acted sooner, and kept the blonde out of harm’s way.

And they stood there before one another in a moment of complete and open understanding. Of mutual respect for one another, and more. Anders lacked any proper means to thank him, he had no way of expressing his gratitude without resorting to something unsavoury that would only end with him being struck. But he could manage that much, to say thank you at the least. Simple words that Fenris was unused to, had never heard with sincerity from another person save for Hawke.

“I wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth…” Fenris murmured after a moment, a warm smile splitting his lips. Anders mimicked his expression, feeling some genuine happiness in his teasing words.

“Probably.”


	11. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. And Apologies in advance for what follows.  
> These chapters always feel much longer on the doc format compared to this site...  
> Anyways, part of this chapter is **nsfw** , and for those uninterested in reading that section I have added a double-break to mark where it begins if you wish to stop reading at that point. Characterisation may be a little off in this section since I have yet to get more experience in writing nsfw things for fenders.  
> I am basically posting this immediately after having finished it, so there may be some errors. I will be doing a thorough proof-read tomorrow, but for now it is what it is. If there are any immediate errors that trouble you, let me know and I will fix it.  
> Other than that? Enjoy~

The cell block had been unusually quiet in the days following Anders’ return from the clinic. The fight was still fresh on everyone’s mind, a hot topic in gossiping circles, even more so after the display Fenris made of putting down his attacker in the coldest of blood. The bloodstains had been swiftly cleaned and not a trace left of the inmate’s death was left in the cell block – and not one mention was made of the unfortunate soul by the wardens rotating on duty.

But a lot was left unsaid in the air of the cell block, whispers dying on lips as sharp green eyes glared at those murmuring in corners and through the bars of their cell. None could say they did not look on Anders with some intrigue thereafter, with a curiosity in how exactly he had convinced Fenris that his life was worth something, even if only a little.

And Anders himself could not help but wonder the same, silent in his cell as he softly rotated his still aching wrist. The injuries to his face were healing well, although there were several dark bruises still visible around his arms and shoulders from where he had been grabbed and smacked with the metal pipe. The inside of his mouth was still tender, and at times he could still taste the blood in his mouth, but the only remaining discomfort he felt was concentrated on his left hand, still kept firmly in place by the plastic splint.

Since he had left the clinic – no, even before that, while he had still been resting there – there had been only two things on his mind. What had he done to aggravate his attacker, and why had Fenris gone so far to intervene?

It was eating away at him; a gnawing, twisting feeling in his gut, an echoing thought in the back of his mind. Anders felt as though he had finally become comfortable in the Tower – or rather as comfortable as one could be – but now…now he was looking over his shoulder again, uneasy when he left his cell block and wary of who he spoke with. He distanced himself from the few acquaintances he had, keeping to the security of his cell, but in that silence, those questions returned.

It did not help that Fenris remained near him. Whenever he saw the elf, the memory of crimson blood splaying across the faded white floors of the cell block, dripping down taut tan skin and soaking into an orange jumpsuit came back to him. The image of cold eyes rolling back into sockets as the life slipped from the man, limbs slackening and becoming limp before the body was dropped and discarded like a rag.

These images persisted in his mind whenever his eyes locked with Fenris, and the lingered when he broke the gaze immediately. They bothered him immensely but not for the reason they should have.

Anders should have felt disturbed, terrified even. He should have felt those things more so than ever in regards to his elven cellmate. But he felt nothing. The memory of the fight, the consequences of it, seemed to be of little importance. It was that fact that bothered him – that he was becoming indifferent to such things. That such a thing was becoming normal to him.

_That’s wrong, isn’t it? Can’t be that, shouldn’t be, won’t be. Not like that, not me, not like them._

But no matter how many times he repeated the words, he doubted them, doubted himself. And when the far off memory of a burning courthouse drifted into his conscious thoughts, the memory of ashes flicking through black smoke as the metal symbol of Andraste’s face above the archway began to warp and melt, as he stood staring with the crowd as people ran from the building screaming and in agony as flames licked at their heels and warmed their backs…

Anders shook his head, rubbing his face with his good hand cursing inwardly. No. _No_. He had his reasons, he knew that, he had not forgotten, no matter how distant those memories were now. He hadn’t forgotten…he wasn’t like them.

Anders resigned himself to leave the cell. He had too, or he would go mad from his own thoughts nagging at his conscience. But when he stood and made his way to the doorway, his right hand resting on the barred doorway, he hesitated. Beyond that threshold was a danger he had not yet learned to keep track of. His knuckles turned white as he continued to hold the bar, fingers tensing until it began to hurt, but he remained frozen.

And eventually, he released the bar and took a step back, returning to his cot and laying down on the thin mattress.

“Not yet…” Anders mumbled under his breath as he raised an arm and laid it over his forehead and eyes, blocking his view of the tiny world that was consuming him ever so slowly. “Not yet.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris lingered by the entryway to the cell block, staring down the row of cells and bars with little to no interest whilst leaning against the wall. His eyes would briefly scan the area, and then settle on his own cell, where he knew Anders was resting.

It had only been a few days at most since he had left the clinic. Fenris and Hawke had not seen him during his time there, but had been assured he was fine. Neither had expected him to return and be perfectly fine and chipper. But Fenris worried a little. The blonde had barely left the cell, save in his or Hawke’s company, and was not eating well, if at all. He no longer walked with the careless swagger he previously had, the almost mockingly content glimmer in his eyes faded and dull, and smiles all but tight and forced.

Fenris knew it would take time for him to feel well, not in body but in spirit. He knew it would not be an immediate change, but a slow process. And yet it bothered him. He contemplated ways to lift the blonde’s spirits, but realised he knew incredibly little about him personally. Beyond that…it was not even his place to attempt such.

The best he could do, he told himself, was to keep a distance and let him have time to himself – but he kept close, watchful over the cell block, having keenly learned his lesson since the last time.

He would not be so careless, not a second time.

“So faithful, keeping watch over your charge.” A deep voice mused and Fenris immediately felt his eyes rolls back in their sockets as Hawke entered the cell block and moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall.

“I would not have to if you would simply drop your interest in him.” Fenris spat the words but they held no true meaning, weightless and empty as he returned his gaze back down the cell block.

“If only it were so simple.” Hawke quipped, smirking as he so often did as he followed Fenris’ gaze.

“What did Aveline have to say?” Fenris asked in a hushed tone after a moment of silence. The smirk on Hawke’s face stiffened slightly as his gaze flickered around the cell block.

“She can’t snoop around too much after her unauthorised trip to the clinic. I don’t want her getting into more trouble than necessary.” Hawke replied in the same quiet voice Fenris had spoken in. “Varric is looking into it though, through his contacts here. If there’s an immediate danger, he’ll pass it on through Aveline. If not, well…I’ll find out in a few days when he visits.”

“And what do you think of this?”

“Me?”

“You _are_ the leader of a gang in Kirkwall, are you not? Shouldn’t you be familiar with these sorts of things?”

“Not as much as you would think. At least, not in these circumstances.”

“So where does that leave us?”

Hawke was silent for a long time as he contemplated an answer to his question. As much as he tried to think of something witty to say to brush it off, nothing came to mind. As well as this, he could not think to offer a proper response. With every day that went by, he felt as though he were becoming blind to the danger in front of him, like the morning fog on a cold morning obscuring everything and anything. And in that fog were the answers he needed, but could not find for the life of him.

“I don’t know…” Hawke said honestly, and the smirk faded to reveal a weary look on his face – quickly replaced as he stiffened his expression once more. But Fenris had seen it, if only briefly, from the corner of his eye. He could not imagine how exhausted his friend was, the weight of the burdens on his shoulders, even if he made light of him.

He himself carried only a fraction of that weight. Fenris at times wished he could do more, but if he could, if there had been an opportunity to, surely it would have been done long ago.

Hawke’s business was, unfortunately, Hawke’s business.

“How is he, anyway?” Hawke asked quickly, hoping to remove the uneasy silence that had settled between them.

“Quiet, although that was expected. Keeps to himself, barely eats, barely sleeps. He’s been mumbling an awful lot as well.” Fenris said such things as he if were reading them off a list. He had been more than a little observant the past few days, and was almost entirely aware of all the blonde’s newly acquired quirks. All of which were most unwelcome.

“Are you worried?” Hawke asked, a brow raising sharply as the corner of his lip dug into his cheek, smirking slyly.

“Aren’t you?” Fenris asked and lifted his head to look at Hawke, pausing for a moment after seeing the smug expression plastered on his face. “What?”

“It’s hard to believe that you wanted him dead when he first got here.” Hawke laughed gently, the smirk genuine as it grew wider.

“He was a pest. He is _still_ a pest.” Fenris said quickly as he tore his gaze away, narrowing his eyes down the cell block corridor.

“But you’re _worried_ about him.” Hawke mused once more, snickering to himself. “Oh, if only Merrill were here.”

“As anyone ever told you that you talk far too much?” Fenris retorted in a vain to brush off his comments. The last thing he needed was Merrill around to chatter endlessly, however humorous it was to watch her spin herself around in circles.

“All too often.” Hawke said and dropped his hand down on Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris was practically jolted out of his foul mood by the unexpected action, his eyes widening slightly as he lifted his head once more to look at Hawke, who only grinned at him. “Go check on him again, yeah?”

Fenris sighed and shrugged his hand off, pushing himself away from the wall. He sauntered down the corridor, not glancing once at those he passed as he approached his own cell. The closer he got, the more aware he became of a light feeling in his stomach. He immediately disregarded it. There was no reason for him to feel uncertain about going to his own cell.

He stopped just short of the entrance, peering into the cell at the blonde fidgeting on his cot. Anders sat hunched with his hands drawn close in his lap. He held his wrist tightly with his uninjured hand, as if nullifying some pain, but his knees bounced in place nervously, anxiously.

Fenris stood in silence for the briefest of moments, watching the blonde fidget and twitch. It almost pained him to look on him like that, when not even last week he had been a smirking, hopelessly annoying mess.

And now he was just…afraid.

“Anders.” Even though Fenris called his name softly, with no hostility, Anders jumped in shock. He had not seen nor heard the elf approach, after all.

But moreover, there was something simple in how he had been addressed that startled Anders. In all the time they had known one another, having spent almost every other day in each others’ company, Anders was entirely certain that was the first time Fenris had addressed him by _name_. And without malice, for that matter.

Hearing that deep voice say his name, softly, kindly…it was not a sound he was displeased by, to say the least. Startled, but not displeased.

“Yes?” The word came out dry, his voice cracking part way through, and he quickly cleared his throat.

Fenris eyed him carefully, staring deep into the bloodshot eyes and the noticing the heavy, dark bags under them. Fenris was almost tempted to try to convince him to leave the cell with him, if only for a moment, to get something to eat.

But when he looked over him again, at the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, the way he nervously looked about and looked at him with unsettlingly anxious eyes, he thought better of it.

“You should get some rest…” Fenris said finally as he moved into the cell and stopped just in front of him, hand twitching by his side as he resisted the urge to knock the blonde down onto his cot.

“No, I’m fine. I’m…” Anders quickly refused, lowering his head and shaking it slightly. If he went to sleep, he could not be alert, something could happen and he wouldn’t even see it coming. For a moment, a panic rose in his chest, and his shoulders rose and fell as his breathing suddenly picked up.

But swiftly, and without hesitation this time around, Fenris lifted his hand and gently laid it on one of those shaking shoulders. It was a simple touch, ginger and all, but it made Anders flinch instinctively. But after a few seconds, as he felt the warmth of that hand softly pressing down, he felt some comfort in it.

“Get some rest, you moron.” Fenris repeated a little sternly, but light-heartedly, and with some kind of amusement to his voice as a strangely kind smile appeared on his face. “You’re safe while I’m around.”

Anders wasn’t sure why, but the words struck him deeply, and something in his chest twinged in an oddly nostalgic way. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made him think as much. He wondered if, just maybe, he had dreamed that moment. But he yielded to his words, and guided by the hand that gently pressed him back onto the cot, Anders lay down, closing his eyes as he opted to sleep.

He watched under fluttering eyelashes as Fenris moved to sit opposite on his cot, cross legged as usual, but calm and attentive in his quiet demeanour.

And for the first time since leaving the clinic…possibly since the first time he had entered the Tower…

Anders felt entirely safe.

 

* * *

 

It may have been because he had had his first decent sleep since returning from the clinic, or it may have just been a whim of his moods, but Anders felt a little more energised by the next day. According to Fenris, he hadn’t moved once, hadn’t even stirred, and was not able to be woken up for an evening meal.

He felt well enough that he was able to muster the courage to head to the clinic – but not without making sure that there were wardens _actively_ on duty as he quietly made his way there. He had been told just before being released to return after a few days to have the splint removed and his hand checked once again. The pain in the appendage had dulled considerably, and it was only been he tensed his hand that he felt considerable discomfort from it, and so assumed that it was as fine as it could be.

Fenris went with him, to ease the blonde’s nerves, although little conversation was made between them. Anders didn’t mind, however. In fact, he found that still silence comforting – the elf’s mere presence alone kept him from fidgeting al too much. In comparison to the prospect of making the journey on his own, having him there, even silent as he was, was preferable.

On the way, however, he felt the gazes of others on him, and was not above looking around and glancing over his shoulder. He had expected to see inmates watching him, keeping at a distance but curious about him after what had happened the previous week. He felt uneasy when the eyes of his fellow inmates landed on him. He wondered if another was going to attack him, if another were already lying in wait for an opportunity.

But he was surprised to find that his unwelcome admirers were not the inmates, but in fact the wardens. He narrowed his eyes at them curiously over his shoulder before turning his head and continuing on his way, picking up his pace slightly until Fenris told him to calm down, and resumed a slow but steady gait at his side.

“Pay them no mind. They’re likely just on edge, after that show the other day.” Although he said words confidently enough, in truth, he doubted what he had just said. Anders agreed readily enough, although he grumbled about it. But when Fenris tilted his head to look back, he could sense the animosity seeping from the wardens, who seemed more…antagonistic than normal.

And given their lacking duties as of late, he did not trust that it was as simple as disliking their charges.

The check up at the clinic was quick. Although Fenris waited outside, he smirked broadly as he heard every word of Morrigan’s lecturing. She did not waste a moment and thrust several unique insults at Anders and his foolishness, no doubt having to hold back as a _professional_ would while he was in need of immediate care. Or perhaps she had just been waiting for him to be entirely conscious before using such language. When Anders finally left the clinic, Fenris reigned in his smirks and snickers, and the blonde moved to his side with a disheartened expression on his face.

“I’m not sure what hurt more; her examination or her words.” Anders grumbled, and Fenris choked back a laugh as he turned his head away, unable to contain the smirk threatening to split his face in half.

“Neither would surprise me.” Fenris said as he calmed himself and cocked his head to the side to silently urge Anders to follow him. “We should eat before the dinner hour ends.”

“I’m not that hungry, honestly.” Anders replied quickly, despite knowing how light his stomach felt.

“Doesn’t matter. You should still eat.” Fenris insisted, and without giving Anders an opportunity to refuse, began to walk and lead him away. Anders could only sigh as he followed behind the elf, keeping two paces back but staying at his heels.

Hawke managed to find them on their way there, and smirked at seeing them together, although he said little of it. He pulled Fenris aside for a moment, speaking to him in a quiet voice. Anders did not care to overhear, but took note of how Fenris’ expression darkened just so, and felt the unease return to him. As curious as he became after seeing that, he did not try to eavesdrop. It was not his place, nor would he benefit in anyway – it would likely only serve to get him into trouble later on. Their conversation lasted a few meagre minutes, and any darkness in their faces vanished as Hawke joined the duo on their way to the cafeteria. Noticing how quickly their mood had changed, Anders wondered just how skilled they were at keeping up an appearance of a sort.

He also wondered if they were, in fact, part Orlesian with how well they seemed to do so.

He cast the ridiculous thought aside, and kept at their side as he followed them with little interest on the way to the cafeteria. He had no appetite whatsoever, but knew well enough that even if he did not feel hungry, it _had_ been a while since his last meal, and he would be doing himself no favours continuing on as he had been. He ate only a little when he did, despite Hawke’s attempts to practically shove food in his mouth whilst scolding him as a mother would their child.

Anders could only stand his playful teasing for so long before he decided to take a moment for himself. With the cafeteria slowly shutting down as the lockdown was approaching, the blonde excused himself to wait outside the mess hall while Hawke and Fenris continued to chat about seemingly meaningless things. Fenris, although hesitant to let the blonde wander off alone, allowed him to do so knowing that he would be able to see him from within as he lingered in the hall.

Anders found it so unlike himself to want time on his lonesome, and as much as he enjoyed their company, he also cherished that peace and quiet that came with being away from them. He occasionally flicked his gaze from one end of the hall to the other, still wary of his fellow inmates, although few spared him a glance as they went on their way. He felt some relief in that, and smiled to himself.

Or rather he had, until a shadow loomed over him, and he jerked his head up and pressed himself further to the wall out of reflex. His first instinct was to make a dash for it, to duck down and bolt back into the cafeteria where Fenris and Hawke were. But that instinct faded as he took in the sight of the uniformed officers standing in front of him, eyes narrowed as though his mere existence in that moment had ruined their evening.

“What are you doing here?” One of them asked in an accusatory tone. The dark eyes that lingered on him were full distrust and annoyance.

“I…I’m just waiting for-” Anders was not given the chance to explain himself as the second warden interrupted him.

“-You should be in your cell block. The lockdown is about to commence.” The malice in his voice could not be mistaken, and Anders flinched slightly when spoken to in a way.

Perhaps it was his silence thereafter that frustrated the wardens, or maybe it was something as base as just wanting to harass him, but the first warden who had addressed him grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off the wall. Fingers dug deep into the flesh of his arm, and Anders grunted as the warden roughly shoved him to the side in the direction of the cellblock.

“Get moving!” The warden shouted, a sharp sound that drew the attention of others near by, and inmates turned their heads and raised their brows at the sight. Many brushed it off as a cautionary action, knowing full well that Anders had been involved in quite a few tussles since his arrival.

But not all agreed as much, and alerted by their shouting, immediately moved to defend the blonde.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fenris’ voice was cold and belligerent as he approached the wardens from behind. His light-footed approach had gone unnoticed until he had spoken, and the wardens turned and recoiled in surprise at the sight of him glaring daggers at them.

“That doesn’t concern you.” One of the wardens snapped, not quite matching his tone however they tried. When Fenris moved towards them, the wardens hesitated, their confidence wavering, but they remained where they stood and looked at each other briefly.

“Keep your hands to yourself…” Fenris growled the words through gritted teeth, his upper lip curling as he practically snarled at them. “Or I will gladly remove them.”

At that point, Anders was no longer surprised by how quickly Fenris could go from quiet and indifferent to cold and threatening. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he watched the stand off unfold, Fenris very easily staring down the wardens until they began to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. Eventually, they mumbled about moving along before they parted around Fenris, picking up a quick pace as they fled down the hallway.

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes as he stomped towards Anders, walking with heavy steps now as he placed a hand on the blonde’s arm and told him they would be returning to the cell block.

However grateful Anders was for his intervention – considering he still had yet to learn which of the wardens were more…antagonistic than the others – Anders wondered why the elf so willing did so these days. Nothing exceptionally grand had happened between them that had bridged the gap still keeping each other at bay, however close they could consider each other compared to how they started out.

Anders did not even know if he could properly consider Fenris as a friend even. In fact, he was not certain what Fenris was to him, and vice versa.

And for whatever reason, that irked him.

That fact alone dug under his skin, irritating him more as he considered it. There was no logical reason for Fenris to be going out of his way as he had frequently done as of late. None that Anders could think of, at least. He mulled over such thoughts on the return to the cellblock, as wardens were calling out to inmates to return as the lockdown was commencing.

By the time they had returned to their cell, Anders was agitated; a result of over thinking while he had been staring at Fenris’ back, wondering a hundred thousand things at once. Why did Fenris help him? As if he were some…damsel in need of rescue. Anders could see no way he would benefit from it, unless he were doing it simply to amuse himself.

As the final warning for the lockdown commenced, Anders and Fenris moved to their respective sides of their cell, and waited for a warden to come along and count them as present before locking the barred door for the evening. Fenris raised a brow in curiosity at the sight of Ander’s frustrated expression, clearly apparent from the deeply furrowed brows and the childishly pouting lips.

“Why are you fussing?” Fenris asked him as they waited to be marked. Anders looked at him for a moment and pulled his lower lip inward slightly as he bit down on it. As he held his gaze steadily, he felt the need to know rise rapidly inside him, and opened his mouth to speak before he had a chance to think on it properly and rationally.

“Why are you always getting involved in stuff like that?” The words flew from his mouth quickly, almost jumbled and incoherent with how quickly Anders said them.

“What?” Fenris said incredulously, narrowing his eyes at the blonde fretting in front of him.

“Just now, with the wardens. You didn’t have to get involved. And all the other times as well. When those men were harassing in my first weeks, the other day with…” Anders cut himself short, unable to bring himself to mention the topic properly. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. He had considered it briefly in the clinic, but did not pursue it.

But the fact of the matter was there had been no cause for Fenris to get involved during that fight. There was no reason for him to have done that. Anders didn’t understand it. If he did…he wasn’t sure how he would feel either way. It seemed as though he were causing the elf nothing but unnecessary trouble – the things that had happened, perhaps he could have avoided them. Hawke’s friend – Aveline – had said that Fenris had been detained for a short time after the last incident as a result of having gotten involved so dramatically.

“It’s too late to be worrying about that now.” Fenris said curtly, unsure why the blonde was so concern all of a sudden.

“It’s not.” Anders snapped at him, an act that made Fenris’ eyes widen in surprise. Both were silent for a moment, and remained so as a warden came to their cell and marked each of them as present. When the barred door to their cell was shut and locked and the warden gone, Anders opened his mouth to speak again, although much more calmly. “I want to know why you keep doing it.”

Fenris didn’t know how to respond. Anders had spoken with a wavering voice, uncertain even of himself, and that was just as puzzling as his request. He couldn’t say that it was Hawke’s will that he intervened as he did. Not only would that cause trouble for his friend but…it was also only a partial truth.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Anders.” Fenris said frankly. He didn’t think it was as simple as it had been in the beginning, when he was begrudgingly babysitting the blonde. He knew that it wasn’t that simple. And yet he had yet to accept why it was no longer a black and white duty.

“…Neither do I…” Anders hesitated before speaking, the words quiet and almost unheard as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the cot.

What was he expecting? Some kind of declaration that Fenris considered him a friend? Or merely thought that he was worth having around, even if only for shits and giggles? He would even have accepted that Fenris simply did it out of boredom. But he didn’t want to hear those things…he didn’t know what he wanted of Fenris. And then he reminded himself he had no right to ask anything of him. Anything at all. It wasn’t as if he had any kind of place beside him.

‘ _I’m not someone worth keeping around…_ ’ he thought to himself. He remembered thinking as much, back then. Before everything, before he had ended up here.

At that time, it seemed as though that man had been sent by the Maker himself to keep Anders out of trouble. But now? No. Nothing like that. This was different, entirely so. Foreign and different and out of place.

Such thoughts continued to swirl in Anders’ mind like a whirlpool, sucking him deeper into a feeling he had long since forgotten. A suffocating sensation of self doubt and uncertainty. It wasn’t until he saw a pair of feet sudden appear on the floor in front of him that he anxiously lifted his head, staring up at the elf in confusion. He fully expected to be scolded, hit even, for asking him such nonsensical things. He would not have blamed him.

But no blow came; he felt no stinging pain in the side of his face from a slap or something other.

He did, however, feel the warmth of a hand touch the top of his forehead as long fingers slid through his hair, ruffling it in a rough but somehow affectionate manner.

“Why are you sulking now?” Fenris asked with a bemused smile on his face. It was all he could bring himself to say. Fenris felt unusually uncomfortable as he watched the blonde stew in his own thoughts, and did the first thing that had come to mind, regardless of whether or not it may haven been an appropriate action to make.

As the hand slowly slipped from the top of his head back to Fenris’ side, Anders shivered ever so slightly at the feeling of those fingers sliding through the locks of his hair and skimming across his ear. A subtle reaction, but one that did not go unnoticed.

And in a unfamiliar state of absentmindedness, Fenris brought his hand back to Anders’ face. His skin was strangely cool, as if he had been standing out in the cold for some time. He felt that temperature change slightly as a slight blush warmed his cheeks. Anders kept his gaze low deliberately, feeling his heartbeat rising despite himself.

And seeing such reactions from him, simple little things but telling all the same…it sparked some recognition in him. Some understanding of his own actions in the not so distant past. Or rather, acknowledgement of those underlying motivations.

He had grown accustomed to seeing the blonde smirk and jest and have moments of cunning wit. He had grown accustomed to the way his brows knitted together in though, the way his lips curled into a pout when he didn’t get his way, and the way the golden brown eyes gleamed with mischief when he thought he could get away with being cheeky.

Unbeknownst to it all along, he had grown attached to the blonde. He didn’t fully understand it himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do next. But a part of him was beginning to yield, thoughts becoming disconnected as his thumb dragged over his cheek and rubbed his lower lip.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Fenris’ voice dropped a tone lower than usual, and a slight smirk came over his lips as he once again felt the blonde shudder. “But perhaps I can show you something instead.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

The words lingered in Anders’ mind for a moment, and he almost believed he hadn’t heard them at all. When he felt his head before tilted upward, however, he didn’t doubt their existence as much. He kept his gaze averted until his chin had been lifted, and once locking eyes with Fenris, felt a little calmer. Fenris’ eyes were not just a marvellous green. They were beyond expressive, and in that moment, they were soft and inviting, and yet tempting all the same.

The kiss began slowly. Lips brushed together, mere millimetres apart, before Anders keenly closed the gap. He had almost forgotten what a kiss felt like; to have another’s warm lips pressing against his own. Without much thought against the current course, Fenris lifted a knee to rest it beside Anders’ thigh, leaning down over him as the kiss quickly deepened with each passing second. Lips meshed together, teeth knocking and soft gasps filling the air as the kiss continued. Fenris lowered his hand from the blonde’s face to push down on his shoulder, leaning Anders away as he followed above until his back was pressed against the wall behind him, and Fenris could very easily claim the spot above him.

Smirking, Fenris let that hand roam as he glided his tongue across the other’s lip, and in turn earned a soft moan as Anders’ opened his mouth. Anders sighed quietly as Fenris slid his tongue into his mouth, the wet muscle rubbing against his own and the roof of his mouth, tickling a little. So focused on the kiss, he barely registered the feeling of Fenris’ hand moving down his chest and undoing the snaps of his jumpsuit.

When his collarbone was exposed, Fenris broke the kiss to drop his head, not hesitating to bite down on the hollow of his neck. Anders twitched at the feeling of his teeth grazing against his skin, and his body trembled as he raised a hand to bury it in the pale white hair falling over his neck and shoulder.

“Are you…marking me?” Anders breathed the words out by his ear, and he felt the elf chuckle against his skin, his lips twitching against the skin of his neck and making him jolt.

“Something like that.” Fenris mused, continuing to bite and suck the side of his neck, leaving red marks that would bruise overnight.

His hand kept wandering lower, unclasping the snaps quickly and using his other hand to drag the orange jumpsuit lower than his shoulder. As per prison regulations for uniforms, inmates often wore some kind of plain undershirt. Anders wore a simple tee-shirt that was relatively form fitting, and Fenris slowly slid his hand under the hem to trail his fingers up the centre of his chest. Anders sunk under the touch, a low moan passing through his lips as he tightened his hold on Fenris’ hair.

As Fenris’ hand wandered, so too did Anders. While he continued to hold onto Fenris’ hair as his lips explored the dips and hollows of his neck, Anders moved his other hand carefully to his front, quick but somewhat hesitant to undo the snaps of his clothing. Fenris lifted his head and bit down on his earlobe as the blonde did so. He laughed, briefly but in a deep, low tone, a thrumming noise that made his chest rumble under Anders’ hand.

“Take your time.” The whisper was low and husky, and Fenris smirked as he returned his lips to Anders’, capturing them in a rough, hasty kiss. He could feel Anders’ grinning against his lips as the hand wandered with more confidence, tracing the lean but taut muscles of his chest under the prison uniform.

As Anders amused himself with such, Fenris dropped his hands to dip them between the blonde’s legs. He slid his hands under his thighs, spreading and lifting them to press his own knees under them until their hips were pressed together, and the kiss was abruptly broken as Anders dropped his head and shook slightly, moving his hips to grind against the elf. Half hard against one another and caught up in the moment, neither objected, and moved against one another with ease. Fenris’ ground their hips together slowly, teasing the blonde as he pushed his hips lower into the thin mattress. He kept his head close to Anders’, indulging in the sight of his expressions contorting in reaction to each slow grinding motion.

Another low chuckle emitted from Fenris as he felt Anders harden against his own length. He said nothing though and simply continued to grind against him, marvelling in the way that Anders arched his back with each drawn out motion, his chest rising and falling as his breathing quickened.

“Knock it off…” Anders hissed the words as he tilted his head back slightly, desperately trying to rock his hips harder against Fenris, but to no avail. He cursed under his breath as he tried to calm himself, but with his mind empty of all thoughts save a tempting urge, he could not.

Fenris’ teasing was relentless and yet simple. Anders hadn’t had many opportunities to masturbate, not without openly inviting a stranger to join him – something he _really_ didn’t want, not unless he was absolutely desperate. So when Fenris continued to rut against him slowly, and with enough force that he could clearly feel the hardness of his cock rubbing through the fabric of the jumpsuits, he felt as though he may go insane. The friction alone was maddening. Tight and restricted, his cock throbbed, and the tip became wet quickly. Anders swore a little louder, gritting his teeth and hissing between them as he roughly bucked his hips against Fenris.

Fenris could have made him beg in that moment. Could have made him say a lot of things in order to be allowed to release. He did not, however. Deciding he had teased Anders enough – for the moment, at least – he leaned back to drop both his hands into Anders’ jumpsuit, sliding his fingers under the hem of his underwear to drag them low enough for his cock to slide out. Anders moaned softly as the cool air touched the exposed and twitching member, but as he reached to touch it, Fenris grabbed hold of his wrist and kept it pinned by his side.

“Tsk, tsk…” Fenris humorously clicked his tongue at Anders, smirking as the blonde was becoming more agitated the longer he was deprived of the pleasure he began to desire. He waited only a moment, savouring the lustful look in the blonde’s eyes, before he moved and shifted his hips to strip himself of the upper half of his clothing.

Taking a moment to roll his hips one last time against Anders’, Fenris slid the orange jumpsuit low enough that his groin was exposed. Anders trailed his eyes down the bare, tanned chest decorated with tattoos, the curled lines of ink detailing the muscles of his body. He hadn’t expected them to go so far down his body. He didn’t know why he found the sight so oddly appealing.

Both of them had an underlying understanding of the situation. There was a lot that could be done to one another, in that cell and on that tiny cot, but there were a few luxuries they were deprived of that would limit the experience. For the first time, at least, until they could get their hands on some particular items – assuming both wanted to pursue such skinship when saner thoughts prevailed over the lust consuming them in that moment.

Edging slightly closer, Fenris pressed against Anders, the warmth of one another’s body almost too much to bear, and released a light sigh as he closed his fingers around their lengths, rubbing their hardened cocks together. Anders gasped, a tremor shaking his body as he dug his fingers into Fenris’ thigh. He was half tempted to cover his mouth, but could not think much beyond that as Fenris squeezed his cock against his own, and another moan escaped his throat.

Fenris’ breathing picked up as he felt his stomach clench tightly, a knot twisting deep in his lower gut. Judging from the expression on Anders’ face, he was feeling the same, if not in a sharper way after having been teased. Anders rocked his hips with each stroke of his hand, pre-come dripping from the tips and down their lengths to cover Fenris’ hand. Anders eventually slid his hand down the elf’s chest to mingle their fingers around their twitching lengths, moving slightly lower to squeeze the base of his cock. Fenris jolted slightly, uttering a moan and a crooked smirk claimed his lips as he rolled his hips into his hand, encouraging him to continue.

Breathless moans filled the short space between their lips, continuously brushing together and biting down every so often, uttering groans and hisses between sloppy kisses. As the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened suddenly, Anders shuddered, feeling as though his climax was drawing closer and closer as Fenris squeezed and played his cock, at times even slowing the pace down enough that it irritated him, only for it to pick up again and become immediately lost in the sensations radiating from his groin.

Swearing against his lips, Anders wrapped an arm around Fenris’ neck, instinctively drawing him near as his legs trembled over the elf’s. His toes began to curl as his orgasm crept closer. Fenris moved to circle his arm around the blonde’s neck, fingers burying in the long, dishevelled hair and tugging it back to expose his neck once more. He dipped his head, resting his chin on his shoulder as he breathed into his ear, moaning lowly and deeply, a sound that only frustrated Anders the closer he came to coming.

And it happened quickly, like a rubber band snapping loose after having been stretched far. Anders felt as though every muscle in his body became tense as his cock throbbed against Fenris’. A low, elongated moan made his lips tremble, body twitching as come spilled the tip and dripped down their hands. Fenris squeezed his cock against his, moaning himself as he bit down on Anders’ neck, feeling his own climax wash over him just as quickly.

They remained together, limbs entwined and bodies pressed together, sticky with sweat and the come mixing together on their fingers. It did not take long for sense to reassert itself – not for Fenris at least. He leaned back, staring down at the long riding the aftershocks of his climax, soft moans accompanied by a gentle bucking of the hips, a sight that made Fenris’ smirk a little. Letting go of his length, Fenris raised his hand to his lips, licking the warm come from his fingers. When Anders saw him do so, his face reddened a little as it had in the beginning.

No words were exchanged in the moments after, when Anders felt exhaustion slowly seeping into his bones. Before anything else was done, Fenris tilted his head to once again claim the blonde’s lips in one last deep, almost enthralling kiss.

And their lips lingered for several long moments, breathless sighs passing between their mouths as it continued.

Even through it all, Fenris was still uncertain in some ways of what it was about the blonde that intrigued him. But as he pulled back, only to be drawn into yet another deep, tongue filled kiss, he was certain he would eventually find out.

Whatever it was exactly…neither was eager to leave it unaddressed.

But in that moment, it wasn’t the most important thing on their mind.


	12. What Comes Next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, life-things happen. I was considering holding off posting this until I had finished Chapter 13, and upload two chapters to make up for the delay but I think this one will give you things to think about in the mean time. Some good news though, I have someone willing to proof-read chapters when I am unable to, which will come in handy when I am back at uni soon, which means chapters will likely be continued as semi-usual?
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is slightly shorter for transitionary reasons. You'll understand soon. And I'm sorry for that.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Fenris sat upright in his cot as the wardens began to stomp down the cell block, unlocking doors as they went and slamming the barred doors against the frames to make an echoing racket. He growled at the rude awakening, eyes narrowed at the silhouette that lingered in the doorway before it moved on to unlock another cell.

Fenris lowered his head thereafter, rubbing his eyes with the edge of his knuckles before gliding his fingertips over the small hollow to remove the sleep from his eyes. Having pried himself from the blonde’s limbs once he had fallen asleep, Fenris had slipped into his own cot to rest for the evening. He had no intention to remain on that tiny cot, however he may have hesitated. Looking over, Anders was slowly raising himself up on his elbows, grumbling to himself as the thin blanket slipped to expose the bare, marked skin.

Fenris’ eyes drifted to the blonde’s neck, dotted with bruises and faint bite marks, and had to look away lest he began smirking. Half tempted, he almost told the blonde to cover himself before someone saw, but did not.

Why should he care if someone saw? Would it not be better, to have others know that no one, save for himself, was allowed to lay their hands on Anders?

Memories quickly emerged, trailing after such thoughts. He recalled the night before, indulging in the thought of the small details that came to mind; the sight of the blonde squirming and twitching from his touch, the so oh soft moans that made his voice crack when he shuddered, cold sweat glistening on flushed skin, marred with dark bruises…he could not force those things from his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

When he looked at Anders again, he could assume that he was thinking of similar things. But there was a strangeness to his expression, downcast and almost forlorn. Guilty, even. For the briefest of moments, Fenris wondered if Anders had regretted the previous night’s interlude. Fenris could admit to himself he had gotten carried away. He certainly hadn’t planned on doing anything. It was, as cliché as it was, one of those times when he had simply gone with the flow, and done as he pleased, without much thought. What caused this, in exacting words, he had still yet to admit to himself – openly, at least. It was harder, in prison, to respond to such a thing with any rational thought. Things like chance, affection, a more than that…

All these things were nonexistent within the cold concrete walls of the Tower.

Averting his gaze, Fenris stood and picked his discarded jumpsuit off the ground beside his cot to put on, not glancing at Anders as he did so. Anders himself chanced a glance at the tanned elf from the corner of his eye, only to look away just as quickly. The silence that fell over them was stifling. Neither said a word, and countless things were left unsaid, but thoughts were faster than words and they each contemplated saying something…anything. But they did not, not of any significance, at least.

“Keep to the cell today.” Fenris said the word quickly and bluntly, with little emotion in them. Anders jolted at his words, surprised by the coldness of them.

“Uh…why?” Anders looked at him, brows raised and eyes questioning.

“Unless you seek unwanted attention,” Fenris tilted his own head back, tapping the skin of his neck to urge Anders to consider his own. “Stay put. I’ll bring something from the cafeteria.”

“Oh. Thanks, I…guess.” Anders spoke slowly, still trying to register the meaning as he lowered his head and lifted a hand to glide fingers over his collarbone. The skin was sore there, and as memory upon memory resurfaced, Anders understood why.

As Fenris began to leave the cell, Anders moved to search for the prison jumpsuit that had somehow found itself under his cot, and quickly pulled it on before prying eyes outside the cell drifted in his direction and saw an opportunity.

While the elf began to walk down the cell block, he noticed something telling about the eyes of his fellow inmates that drifted towards him, and then to his shared cell. The previous night had not gone unheard, as the smug smirks and perverted sneers from prisoners were followed by brief snickers. If he entertained that nonsense, it would not end well, for anyone. Fenris only scoffed, rolling his eyes as he did so, and continued out of the cell block freely to saunter through the corridors towards the cafeteria, which was already filling with grumbling inmates from the numerous cell blocks.

He did not rush himself, and waited in line sluggishly and resisted a yawn as he slowly felt more awake than he had moments before. He could feel eyes boring into his back, questioning and curious, but he did well to ignore the ill feeling of being watched. He did his best to ignore them, as he found that kind of gossip irritating in general.

But when a thick arm slid over his shoulder and a heavy weight leaned against his side, he knew he would not be able to ignore it for long. A familiar laugh echoed by his ear, and turning his head, Fenris was greeted by the sight of Hawke’s all too amused grin. Today, it may have been utterly genuine, especially with how he continued to snicker like a five year old.

“Before you open your mouth, think about what you want to say, and then don’t say it.” Fenris spat the words, hoping to discourage the conversation Hawke was undoubtedly about to bring up, but the bearded man only grinned more and continued to snicker and giggle as he rested his forehead on the elf’s shoulder, nuzzling him affectionately.

“Oh, I already have.” Hawke mused and began to shift his weight from foot to foot, making the two of them sway on the spot in the waiting line. “ _Everyone_ has. At least in our cell block. Did you even try to keep him quiet?”

“I didn’t really think about it.” Fenris answered with surprising honesty. It truthfully hadn’t been on his list of priorities. “If you’re here, I’ll go back-”

“It’s fine,” Hawke beamed at him, and leaned his head closer, whispering in his ear. “After that…display, I don’t think anyone is going to rush to touch what’s yours.”

“He isn’t-”

“Then what is he?”

Fenris opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated when he saw the serious look on Hawke’s face; cold and hardened, but with an underlying concern that was not only regarding Fenris. The question had been one of many on his mind in the recent past. What exactly was Anders to him? A person of interest for Hawke? The first cell mate he was _fond_ of? More than that? And if so…what exactly? He had acknowledged his own…feelings, if he could call them such. He had yet to admit them aloud, but that was a topic for another day. He was not ready to address it just yet. But he did not know what Anders thought, or wanted, for that matter. Looking away, he huffed and stepped away from Hawke to snatch food from the serving benches.

“Why are you here again?” Fenris barked as he glared at Hawke a little.

“Just wanted to say good morning, that’s all.” Hawke’s smirk returned in full force as the topic was discarded, not that he had any intent to give up on it entirely. “Varric’s visiting today, but I’ll come back to the cell block soon enough. Try to play nice. But not as nice as last-”

“Has he found something?” Fenris interrupted, opting to ignore it entirely, and raised a brow at Hawke, whose smirk faded slightly.

“Not sure. I’ll find out.” Hawke gave Fenris a whole-hearted smile and patted his shoulder. “Say hello to Blondie for me, ‘kay?”

“Say it yourself.” Fenris rolled his shoulder to make Hawke’s hand slip, and Hawke laughed quietly to himself as he moved away from the serving benches to leave the cafeteria.

Fenris tried to shake the things Hawke had said out of his mind. _What is he…?_ How could Fenris answer a question like that? He wasn’t about to go and claim the blonde, as if he were some prison-bitch to be played with and tossed aside to another later on. The very thought sickened him on some level. But it was also enlightening, in another way. That he found the idea distasteful was telling that Anders’ life was worth more than he had originally surmised.

He sighed as he grabbed a few items that looked like breakfast muffins– he couldn’t be certain; given how misshapen the food was at times – to take back to the cell block. He did not possess a great appetite, but reminded himself to eat something proper later. If such a thing could even be found in the Tower’s downgraded cafeteria.

The walk back to the cell block seemed longer than it had in the morning. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel something akin to dread billowing and rising to fill his body. Fenris began to think of what he might say to Anders when he returned. What was there to say? How does someone, having lived the majority of their life in prison, ask about another’s wants after a night of what could easily be classed as the prison equivalent of a one night stand?

He did not have to consider it for long, as he began to hear the muffled yelling from down the corridor.

In his cell block.

The feeling of dread bloomed and spread as his stomach knotted painfully, twisting and wrenching as he all but abandoned the food he was carrying in favour of racing towards the cell block.

He wasn’t in the cell block. Neither was Hawke. The last time either of them had been absent…

Fenris narrowed his eye into a sharp glare as he heard the yelling increase within the cell block. His footsteps echoed loudly, feet padding and landing heavily as he picked up his pace. He shoved past a gathering crowd to enter the area and halted at the sight before him. He had fully expected to see a few inmates dragging Anders’ exposed body into the hall to ravage him, like savage animals.

The sight he witnessed was not so different, and it made his pulsing blood turn cold.

Anders was indeed being dragged from their cell, but not by their fellow inmates. Rather, by uniformed wardens, guarded by several others that kept other prisoners at bay. Anders thrashed on the ground against his restraints, cursing the wardens violently, demanding to know what was going on.

Without hesitating a second time, Fenris stepped forward, glaring fiercely as he marched towards the wardens. He was spotted quickly, and two of the uniformed guards stepped forward to intercept him. In unison, the wardens stopped no more than a few meters from him and raised the weapons they were carrying, the barrels of heavy guns pointed at his chest.

“Keep your distance, elf.” The wardens ordered calmly, like it was just another day at the office. Fenris stopped despite his own wishes. The fact they were carrying weapons at all was far from a good thing. Whatever their goal was, they were intent to complete it. Even if that meant spraying the halls with blood, it seemed. Fenris’ eyes flickered to Anders, who had noticed his presence but was unable to call out to him, struggling as he was against the wardens pinning him to the ground against his will.

Fenris could only watch, blood boiling and fists clenching, helpless and useless as the wardens lifted a restrained Anders to his feet, only to beat him over the head once before dragging his staggering body out of the cell block from the other exit. Fenris watched Anders twist and tug, trying to pry himself away from the wardens despite his better judgement. For a moment, Fenris wanted to tell him to calm down and let it happen – to not cause trouble, unless he wanted to be treated unkindly.

But he knew that would count for naught. Where ever he was about to be taken…

There would be no kindness in that place.

 

* * *

 

Hawke drummed his fingertips on the tabletop in the visiting room as he impatiently waited for Varric to be allowed to enter. When he did, however relieved he was to see his friend again, he could not say that his dwarven friend looked well. His eyes were bloodshot, and Hawke could smell the familiar brand of coffee that Varric drank on his person. Hawke said nothing as Varric sat himself opposite himself and rested his arms on the table.

“Your friend is a pain in my ass, Hawke.” Were his first words, and having heard that familiar snark, Hawke felt a little assured that Varric was alright in some sense.

“Tell me about it.” Hawke said with a brief smirk tugging at his lips before he settled himself. “You’ve found something?”

“Not much, but enough to dig deeper. Maybe.” Varric said as he began to explain what he had been investigating, almost as though he were reciting it from the file itself rather than off the top of his head.

Varric had been troubled by Anders’ records having been pulled from the Kirkwall Police Department, and even more so after having discovered the extensive track record he had for arson and vandalism. Crimes that should have seen him arrested for some time – had it not been for a probation period granted to him on a good behaviour bond, one that had actually yielded a promising rebirth for Anders’ pathway in life.

He had not, however, had any luck uncovering concrete details about his past in that time. He had no known associates, and his only familial bond was with a council justicier who was just as big of a mystery – especially after Aveline’s revelation that the wisened man knew of Hawke’s activities.

So he dug deeper. Varric had his network of contacts look in as many places as possible until phone and bank records could be found. With those in hand, Varric had been able to identify some key things. Anders had in fact managed to keep off the radar, his record clean up until the Courthouse Incident, and had been able to get a job in that time, low paying but it was work enough to satisfy probation requirements. Varric had gotten his contacts to track his phone records, plotting where he had been and at what times when any call or text was made. Not all that surprising, there were few people he engaged with – save for one that repeatedly appeared.

A number that was traced to a man Anders had shared a residence with, known only to Varric so far as _Thekla_ – the name only coming from Anders’ registered contact history, incomplete as it was.

“Thekla?” Hawke raised a brow at the name, and leaned back in his chair, having inched forward as Varric had told him of what he had learned. “What have you found about him?”

“This is where I have to give you some bad news.” Varric said with a strained smile, as if that would ease the blow. He knew it wouldn’t though. “I can’t find anything on this guy. The phone number Anders was calling – it doesn’t seem to be registered anymore. There are no bank accounts, no employment history. The people that lived in that apartment complex can’t ever recall seeing him.”

“He can’t have just…” Hawke trailed off, the word dying on his lips.

“Vanished?” Varric finished for him, his expression turning grim immediately. “Like the Lowtown citizens?”

“Maker’s breath…” Hawke lowered his head and covered his mouth, pausing a moment as he closed his eyes, still registering the fact. It was troubling enough to know that Anders was the current target of Alrik’s obsession – whatever it was. But to know that one of his associates had disappeared, much like those that had vanished in Lowtown…

That was beyond disturbing.

“I don’t know about you Hawke, but I think it’s time we stop tip-toeing around Blondie.” Varric leaned forward, resting a hand on the tabletop as he gave Hawke a meaningful look. “You need to talk to this kid and find out what’s going on. Say what you want, this _isn’t_ coincidence anymore. You know that.”

“I know…” Hawke dropped his head low to rub his hand over his face and into his hair, gripping it before straightening in his seat. “Alright. Do you have anything else?”

“Not regarding that, but my contacts are still looking into it, quietly. But, some good news now. Merrill and Isabela were approved for probation, thanks to a few well placed favours. For now, they’re laying low and doing what they have to. But they’ll be ready, Hawke.”

“Alright. Don’t do anything rash, and tell Isabela to keep away from the Qunari. One problem at a time.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had the luxury of time.”

Varric visit ended shortly thereafter, with another firm reminder for Hawke to question Anders – and quickly. Hawke lingered in the visitation room for several long moments after Varric had left to continue his investigations. He sat in silence, staring at the blank wall ahead of him, trying to piece together what he knew so far. The more he considered Anders’ position, the more he began to wonder if he were just another pawn of some kind – that there was still yet something else lingering behind a veil, just out of reach.

He eventually pulled himself from his thoughts and stood to leave the visitation room, preparing himself to seek out the blonde in question and find an answer. Whether or not it would be the one he wanted, however, was another variable altogether.

When he left to wander down the hall, heading in the direction of the cell block, he noticed how the wardens mumbled to one another, engaging in gossip – something that was rare while on duty, and only really ever happened when something interesting had occurred. Feeling wary, he picked up his pace, and as he rounded the corner that would lead him towards his cell block, he was stopped in his tracks as two familiar faces headed towards him.

Aveline and Fenris, both were looking angered and concerned.

And before they could speak, Hawke hung his head, rubbing the space between his furrowing brows.

He didn’t have to guess. He didn’t have to ask. Even as they stood before him, Hawke kept his head low, glaring at the ground. Something had happened. What exactly, he was about to find out, but he knew it wasn’t good. And he had a terrible feeling he wasn’t going to be able to pass on anything useful to Varric in the immediate future.

“What happened?” He asked through gritted teeth, not daring once to lift his gaze and look them in the eye.

“The wardens marched into our cell block armed to the teeth and all but dragged Anders out of there.” Fenris snapped the words, his jaw clenching once he had finished speaking.

“Armed?” Hawke lifted his head at the word, looking at them cautiously. “They armed themselves to take one person?”

“Alrik ordered it.” Aveline joined the conversation, and when Hawke looked at her, he could see the troubled look in her eyes – that look of feeling responsible in some way. Hawke was certain they all felt something similar. He had in a way. Hawke was convinced that no one among the inmates would attempt any of the foolishness that had occurred in the past. He had not counted on the wardens taking action though. He should have, but didn’t, and now the price had been paid. “I heard some of the others talking about it after it happened.”

“Fucking prick.” Hawke mumbled under his breath, cursing at the ground. “If Anders leaves the Tower, we’re going to lose whatever damn leads we have.”

“He won’t be taken just yet.” Aveline assured him swiftly, and Hawke could only stare in confusion.

“What do you mean? The other inmates who were taken haven’t been seen here since.” Fenris questioned her, eyes narrowed as he too wondered what she meant.

“If Alrik went through all that trouble to pull Anders from that cell block, I doubt he’ll be so quick to get rid of him.” Aveline looked back and forth between them, her words laced with worry as she explained.

 _Get rid of him_. The words stung more than Hawke thought they would, and he cursed once more under his breath.

“There’s only one place in this facility he can be kept then…” Hawke didn’t want to say the words. Tilting his head and looking at his elven friend, he knew that he too had come to the same conclusion.

“They’ve taken him to solitary.”


	13. Solitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter does contain non-consensual content, however brief and non-graphic. I will mark where it begins and ends for those who do not wish to read that section.**
> 
>  
> 
> I am sorry this chapter took so long to get up. I had written quite a bit of it a while ago, but then uni happened and other things happened and then writer's block decided to occur. But, an update is an update, and I am still going to continue the story. I'd like to thank everyone for their continued interest and the support shown from people on my blog, etc. I hope you're all well, and I'm sorry for what you're about to read.

Anders resisted them every fumbling step of the way. He thrashed against the wardens, desperate to pull from their grasp, but to no avail. So occupied with that task he barely registered what direction he was being hauled away in, or where he was eventually going to wind up. Prisoners in the halls were shoved aside to clear the way, and none dared to intervene. Eventually, the wardens grew tired of his resistence, and they violently beat him into submission. Bleeding from the mouth, Anders spat the bitter red liquid onto the floor as the wardens once again latched onto his arms, restraining him with a vice like grip, and dragged him down several long corridors.

Everything became a blur at one stage. Anders blinked, and suddenly the world was different. From being in a pristine white corridor, he suddenly found himself in a small enclosed and dimly lit elevator, the wardens still on either side of him, keeping his arms pinned firmly behind his back. He dropped his head, and that growing blonde hair of his slipped over his shoulders, messy and knotted from his earlier protests.

He felt the grip of the wardens tighten before the elevator doors opened, and he was dragged across the floor without being given a chance to walk as soon as they did, instead stumbling whilst hunched and in pain.

This was a part of the prison he didn’t recognise. It felt colder down here, and the fluorescent lights humming above him were too bright to look at, and so he kept his gaze downcast.

Suddenly, the wardens hauled him upright and on his feet, but not for long. They turned him suddenly, and while one held him up, the other shoved him forward and into an open cell. Anders collided with the floor, his head banging against it with a loud thud. He groaned and rolled onto his side, holding his forehead in his hands as he staggered and tried to lift himself up. He felt something connect with his back, and suddenly he was thrust forward, kicked onto his side.

“Keep down, you pest.” The voice was cold and unkind, and all too full of resentment. Anders tilted his head up, looking up at the warden as his hair slipped away from his face. A hand fell on the warden’s shoulder and they were ushered aside by a new face, who stepped forward to tower over Anders.

The replacement warden commander; Alrik.

Anders felt the cold chill of dread creep through his body, and he dared not to move again. He remained on his knees, mostly out of confusion and shock, but that did not keep him from speaking.

“Why am I here…? I haven’t done anything. You can’t-” Anders almost said that he had no right to do this, but he did. They both knew it. Alrik could do as he pleased, and as far as Anders could tell, no one had the authority to stop him from doing just that.

“Don’t be frightened. I’ve only a few questions for you. If you cooperate, you’ll be returned to your cell block in quick order.” Alrik’s words were calm but laced with an underlying sense of distaste; as if speaking to him was degrading in some way. Anders knew his words weren’t to be trusted. He knew where the interrogation cells in the Tower were, and one didn’t need an elevator to get to them.

“I have nothing to say…” Anders said softly after a moment, and shifted until he was standing, but in such a way that wouldn’t provoke Alrik to sic the wardens on him.

“Oh, I think you do.” Alrik said and turned behind him briefly, nodding his head to a warden standing guard at the door who handed him a file. Anders watched the older man open the file, and flip through several pages before pulling out a small slip of paper. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”

Alrik flicked the paper forward, letting it flutter about before it landed at Anders feet. Anders looked up at Alrik warily, but the older man merely smiled in an all too familiar way, as if he knew some sort of secret and was all giddy about it. Cautiously, he leant down and picked the paper up from the floor, straightening himself before he turned it over to look at properly.

And he felt sick to his stomach the moment he did. He raised a hand instinctively to cover his mouth and his fingers trembled as they dug into the flesh of his checks. The paper was a photograph, and one that he remembered well. The photo was torn at the edges with creases through it that left it discoloured in some places, a result of having been folded and unfolded many times and kept in his wallet. Anders remembered the day it had been taken. He could remember the hot summer air and the way the wind whipped their hair about. He remembered the feeling of lips pressing against his check in a cheeky, smug way and how his eyes stun from the blinding flash.

“Karl Thekla, right?” Alrik’s voice made Anders jerk back into reality, and he ground his teeth together as he clenched the photo tightly in his hand. “A shame, really. I’ve heard you two were close.”

“Shut it.” Anders growled the words without thinking twice, and raised his head to glare at Alrik openly.

“My, my. That _is_ a defiant look you have.” Alrik said scornfully and narrowed his eyes at Anders in turn. “It’s no wonder you became so unhinged when he disappeared.”

“I said shut your fucking mouth!” Anders yelled and lunged forward, ready to throw his closed fist at Alrik. The older man was prepared, however, and calmly took a step back as the wardens grabbed Anders and forced him back to his knees, restraining him as he once against struggled and resisted them, but not before they knocked the wind out of him with a sharp kick to the stomach, forcing him to bend over and hunch as he coughed violently.

“I am sorry, Anders. Truly. It’s unfortunate that you knew him at all, considering you wound up here. Imagine how different your life could have been if you’d kept to your place…” Alrik paid him nothing more than a lip service. His words were far from sincere, in fact, they were more amused than anything – as if he found great enjoyment in this. Perhaps he did. “Administer the drug.”

Most of his anger faded at those words. One of the wardens grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head onto the ground, and he grunted loudly as his skull radiated with the racking pain. Trembling, he tried to shake off the one remaining warden holding him down while the other began to shuffle about with something.

And suddenly he felt it. A cold bit of metal pressing against the back of his neck, now exposed to them. He heard a faint clicking noise, and the sharp but brief sting as something pierced his skin. The wardens then shoved him hard, and he tried to lift himself from the ground to swing at one of them. But a sudden dizziness overcame him, and he stumbled back, falling onto his rear as he ran his hands through his hair, gripping his head tightly.

His hands shook as he tried to grip his hair, his nails scraping against his scalp. The pain was immediate. The inside of his head felt as though it were on fire; hot and prickling and irritated. His body shook for no logical reason, and suddenly it felt as though he were suffocating. The air became hard to breathe, and when he lifted his head to look up at those standing about him, he could only see a fading, blurry outline.

“I’m glad we were able to get some use out of Thekla. This one seems much more potent.” He could barely make out Alrik’s voice. The words seemed to merge and become a mangled mess.

Anders tried to lift himself to his feet, but found that his legs were no longer responding. They trembled violently, his knees jutting as he rested his hands on them, trying to still the movements somehow. The pain he had felt mere moments ago was but a distant memory, overshadowed by the effects of whatever had been injected into his system. From above, he heard a chuckle, and then voices once more, but the words were faint to him.

“You can leave us.” Alrik said as he raised a hand to dismiss the wardens, looking down at Anders with a more curious gaze, a more intent one.

“Sir?” One of the wardens spoke up, not out of concern for the prisoner, however. Rather, out of concern for Alrik, being alone with someone under the influence of the latest drug.

“It’s alright. He won’t be any trouble.” Alrik spoke the hollow words quickly, eager for them to leave. “I want to…monitor the first dosage.”

“…Of course, sir.”

The wardens knew better. They truly did, but each of them backed away from the cell and left, heading down the corridor without once turning back or even looking over their shoulder.

They left Alrik to his plaything, and Anders to his fate.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 Anders barely noticed Alrik wandering around him, circling him, like a famished vulture. He shifted on his hands and knees, shaking and feeling as though everything inside his body were melting and mixing together. His skin was hot and flushed, and he began to sweat despite the fact it was cool within the cell. His mouth opened and closed, his tongue suddenly a little too thick for his mouth, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps. He only just registered the feeling of Alrik’s hands sliding over the back of his neck, touching what little skin was exposed there, and then those hands wandered elsewhere.

And then Anders felt himself being pushed lower into the ground, his burning face pressing against the cold floor. The last sane part of him that knew what was happening, knew why his clothes were being striped back and his trembling, unwilling body was being rearranged to the older man’s will was slowly being drowned out by a harsh, unsavoury noise stirring in his mind. He couldn’t focus, no matter how hard he tried. The more he tried, the worse that melting feeling inside his brain got, and it became unbearable after several seemingly unending moments.

He felt everything after a time. The senses that were drowned out were suddenly hypersensitive, painfully so. Like every fibre in his body was being torn apart. He felt it when Alrik took him by force. He felt those perverse, wandering hands groping his flesh and playing with him, fingers digging deep until nails cut his flesh and fingertips bruised his skin. He felt the way his body was held down, pushed roughly against the cold ground, his hips being rocked forcefully. He felt the unpleasant wetness between his legs that as Alrik did as he pleased for as long as he pleased, a mixture of blood and the warden’s disgusting release.

And the last part of his conscious mind that knew anything of what was happening vanished suddenly, and Anders lay there, drooling and staring blanking at the wall as his body shook and trembled and was toyed with. His pupils were so dilated that the golden brown iris seemed non-existent. Tears were welled up in his eyes, but they did not fall, and the photograph he had been holding lay discarded to the side, lying in the shadow of Alrik’s grunting figure.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 The small cell was far too quiet, but any sound that was made was all too loud for him to stand. Anders lay in the middle of the cell, with only a thin pillow and a blanket as décor – if it could be called such. The cell itself was darkened at random, and with no windows, he had no knowledge of what time it was. Some days he woke up and it was pitch black, all day, and on those days he doubted if he was truly awake at all. Others, the light seemed too bright, too fierce and unyielding, and he wondered if he was dead.

But worse than that was the pain that seemed to permeate his entire being, a pain that reminded him he was still living, if only just.

His skin felt as though fire ants were crawling over every inch of his flesh, and he could not help but twitch and scratch – mostly at the back of his neck and shoulders, where the skin had become so irritated and scrapped that it would bleed sometimes, and the underside of his nails were a darkened red from dried blood. He sweated nonstop, his jumpsuit no doubt going to stain because of it, but no part of his mind thought to strip himself.

His bones tickled unpleasantly, although he knew in his heart such a thing wasn’t true. But he felt it, felt as though they were splintering inside him, cracking and shifting, and it _hurt_. He screamed at times, because of that pain. A dry, hoarse, voiceless scream that carried no sound. His throat was far too sore and dry to make any sound.

There were countless words to describe how Anders felt, and yet none at all at the same time. He couldn’t think of anything save for the sensation in his body. And on the days he didn’t, when he had some semblance of a reprieve, when some part of his mind returned, a terrible feeling of anxiety and sadness swept over him brought on by the solitude of the small cell.

He told himself he would go mad. He had no idea how much time had passed, if any had at all, or if too much had gone by. He would stand, weakly and with shaking limbs, and touch the walls, feeling the coldness under his palms, and proceed to pound a closed fist against it until he could not bear one last blow. The knuckles and sides of his hands and palms were scraped and rough and red, and when he no longer had the energy to stand, he collapsed on his makeshift bed.

The only contact he had with anyone was when it was meal time. And that alone had become a trial in and of itself.

The door of the small cell never truly opened. Rather, the outer door was unlocked and opened, and then Anders stared at a tinted screen as a tray of food was shoved into the cell from a slot on the ground. The tray would grind against the ground. The first few times this had happened, Anders had eaten the food without question.

But after a while, something occurred to him. He couldn’t remember it well, and the memory had since been replaced by a simple urge.

 _Throw it back._ And he did. Every time the tray of food was passed in, Anders would vehemently kick it back through the slot immediately. He would regret doing so seconds later, as he would yet again go without a meal, but the next day, the urge returned. _Don’t eat_.

He didn’t understand why. But his mind became clearer at random when he had stopped eating. He would have a sudden surge of thought, a sudden recognition of self, only for it to be swallowed and forgotten after a time. He didn’t eat, and so his delirium only worsened. And when he slept, the wardens would return to dose him once more, and the back of his neck became littered with cuts from his nails and small holes from the needle injections. If he wouldn’t accept the food, he would have the drug administered another way. It would keep him dull and senseless and quiet – so to speak.

But the clear parts of his mind that randomly returned knew. If he didn’t eat…eventually they would have to take Anders out of this tiny cell.

But the wait…

The wait might kill him all the same.

 

* * *

 

 He truly had lost all account of his senses. The lights were no longer too bright, or too dim. The silence that encompassed him, crushed him – it didn’t bother him so much. He could only sit motionless, curled up in the corner of the room, holding his head tightly in his hands.

When he slept, he was plagued by terrible dreams, and often woke screaming and thrashing.

It was no different when he was awake. Was he dreaming then? If still troubled by sounds and lights that were not there, was he sleeping? He had no way of knowing.

All Anders could do was sit in the corner, still and silent.

And suddenly those moments of silence were shattered by screaming fits. He would drop his head low to the ground, shrieking at the ground until his lungs were emptied, much like his mind. The silence that didn’t bother him was suddenly too much, too quiet, too alien, too terrifying.

He experienced violent mood swings, a common effect of solitary confinement made worse by the strange chemicals regularly flooded into his system. He slept less and less, and his stomach tightened and growled at him relentlessly. But eventually, he would crawl into the corner of the cell and square his body to make himself smaller, and then he would be silent once more, staring at the void in front of him. The walls moved away some times, stretching endlessly before him. In a daze, he would stand and try to walk, only to go a few feet before suddenly colliding with the wall itself. Other times, they closed in, pressing against him and squeezing the life out of him.

As troubling as it was, it was familiar. He knew of such things, but had long forgotten them, something that had taken much time to force. He didn’t want to remember the times he had spent locked away as a child.

Anders even wondered if anything had changed at all…if everything he had experienced between then and now had been nothing more than a long, long dream. That he was still there, in that dark space, waiting.

“Anders.” The voice startled him, his entire body jerking in reaction to it. Anders stiffened as soon as he realised it was indeed a voice. “Anders?”

The voice continued to call out to him. It was familiar; soft and warm, as if dipped in honey, welcoming him. But there was a sadness in that voice too…sad and sorrowful.

“I’m so sorry, Anders…” The voice cracked as it spoke, and very slowly, Anders lifted his head to look at the owner of the voice.

And there he was, yet again. Sitting cross legged on the opposite side of the cell, wearing the same old, worn out jacket over a button up shirt and a loosened tie with a stain on the collar. His hair was as grey as it had ever been, and the beard had been neatly trimmed as it was very morning before work. A flash of a memory returned for an instant, of the man standing over the sink as Anders watched from the bedroom, grooming himself to be presentable for the day. But he looked different, somehow. Stranger and tired. Aged even.

“Karl…” Anders whispered the word breathlessly as he stared at him, sitting so close and yet so far away at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry Anders. I never intended this.” Karl’s words were strange. Anders felt as though he had had this conversation before, a long time ago. “You should go back now. While you can.”

“Why would I…?” Anders’ question was interrupted when Karl spoke again.

“I’m so sorry, Anders.” Karl began to repeat himself, and Anders listened to every word, not understanding for a while that Karl continued to recite what he had said only moments ago.

And then it dawned on him, the cruel truth.

Anders lowered his head back to his lap, but the voice remained. What had been warm and kind was now cold and monotonous. Under his breath, Anders began to whisper to himself in a vain attempt to silence the voice speaking to him. His own voice grew louder, and louder, until he was screaming.

“Get out…get out…get out, get out, get out, get out…!” Eventually he was no longer saying words at all, merely screaming into the cell that had suddenly become silent.

Breathless and tired, Anders stared at his lap, glaring at it as tears streamed down his face. And once more, he slowly raised his head, and stared at the blank space in front of him, and choked on the sob that parted his lips.

And he curled up once more, and began to cry as he sat there, alone with his tormented thoughts.


	14. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was supposed to have finished this over the weekend but here it is! I'm too nervous to ask if the proof-reader I had lined up is still interested in reviewing the chapters, but I'm certain this is alright? In any case, yeah, here it is.
> 
> Another quick thank you to everyone reading! This story is almost at 4000 hits and just over 300 kudos, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story and yeah just thank you for the continued interest and support. Hope you're all well, and enjoy! <3

Hawke focused on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It was all he could do to keep his thoughts from running rampant and engulfing him. It was maddening, knowing that in the brief moments of carelessness, someone he had considered a friend had been snatched right under his nose.

And knowing that Anders was still in the Tower, hidden somewhere and under Alrik’s thumb, made him feel all the more guilty.

When he looked at Fenris, however, he knew he wasn’t alone in feeling this. The elf sat beside him, his back to the wall and legs crossed neatly. To an onlooker, he was as he always was – stone-faced and cold. But Hawke could see the dark bags under bloodshot eyes and the slight twitch of his fingers as he resisted fiddling with them. Hawke wondered how much Fenris had actually slept since Anders had been _escorted_ from their cell block. From how quiet things had been since, one would think it had been a lifetime ago.

Hawke’s head jerked up at the sound of footsteps nearby, and pushing himself away from the wall a little, he turned fully to watch as Aveline slipped around the corner with a deeply troubled expression on her face. Fenris remained as he was on the ground, never once lifting his head, but his eyes followed Aveline, and what looked like a brief glimmer of relief appeared in his eyes for a moment.

“…Anything?” Hawke hesitated to ask, but there was no point beating around the bush. Aveline’s expression spoke volumes by itself, but he hoped nonetheless.

“It doesn’t look good, Hawke.” She began, and Hawke felt his empty stomach tighten unpleasantly. “Any access to the solitary wing has been restricted to a handful of wardens that were hand-picked by Alrik. The entire sector is practically in lockdown.”

“Were you able to find anything out from the security footage? Varric said–”

“–I know what Varric said. On any other day he would have been right, but the entire system has been rerouted, the solitary wing is monitored from elsewhere now.”

“That’s impossible.” Fenris said, his head tilting to the side so he could be heard by the two of them clearly. “You can’t just take an entire sector off the radar.”

“He could have, if it had been arranged during the maintenance lockdown.” Aveline said, and when Hawke narrowed his eyes at her sceptically, she nodded to him. “Meredith was reassigned almost immediately after. She wouldn’t have had the time to review any changes made before she left.”

Hawke felt a heavy weight sink through his bones. He felt as though every fibre in his body suddenly weighed a ton, and he closed his hands over his face. Fenris alike dipped his head, knowing deep in his heart that holding out hope for some whisper of Anders would be fruitless. There was a dull pain in his chest, not knowing what had happened to him. If anything had happened at all. Or if he’d just been thrown down there to rot. Aveline looked between the two of them, and felt their despair keenly, and reached out to grab hold of Hawke’s shoulder. She squeezed it tightly under her hand, the only reassurance she could give him in that moment.

“Hawke, there is something else.” She said softly after a moment, and Hawke raised his head slowly to look at her. She could see how much he had paled, how worn out this place had made him. “But if I go through with it, I won’t be able to keep a position here in the Tower.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke’s brows raised, and the worried look that had been on his face for who knows how long contorted into one of pure confusion. “Aveline?”

“I’ve been to the solitary wings before. Unpleasant business that. But unless they’ve made some big renovations, everything should be the same.” Aveline spoke in a hushed voice, soft so that none could hear but the two before her, but her words carried a deeply determined weight. “I can go down there and at least find out if he’s alright. But if I do it, you’ll be on your own here.”

“Aveline, we don’t even know what Alrik is doing to the people that are taken. What do you think could happen to you if you did this?” Hawke almost agreed, but thought better of it after a moment. If it meant risking Aveline’s life…there was only so much fate he could tempt.

“It’s been almost two weeks.” Fenris’ voice was hoarse as he spoke, dreading his own words. Hawke glanced at him over his shoulder, looking at him not with pity but with sympathy. “Can we really afford to keep dancing around this?”

“He’s right, Hawke.” Hawke brought his gaze back to Aveline, who was still assured of her idea. “This isn’t just about him. There’s more at stake than even we know. I can’t get him out, not without losing him in the process. But we can find out if he’s still…here.”

Here…or rather, still _alive_.

The words were left unsaid, and yet spoken all the same, no longer left to linger in the back of their minds. There was only so much time that could be spent in anxious bouts of uncertainty. Inaction is not always the best course of action, even if things turn out poorly. Hawke knew this all too well. He had abided his entire life on the principle, and yet in recent years, he found himself far more invested in his decisions. The weight of innocents weighed heavily on his mind, and deep down, he dreaded the thought of leaving them to the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

“Leave as soon as you can when it’s done.” Hawke’s voice was stern, much more firm than it had been before. “Meet up with Isabela and Merrill at the safe house. Speak to Varric when you can, and then wait.”

“Are we doing this in earnest now…?” Fenris raised a brow as he began to stand, shifting until he stood at Hawke’s side.

“I think we’ve exhausted our options here. It’s time we get this blazing.” Hawke said as a bitter smirk came across his face, and he raised a hand to grip Aveline’s wrist, squeezing it tightly as she in turn squeezed his shoulder. “Better get going before we make a scene.”

“Don’t do anything foolish.” Aveline warned and pulled her hand back, but not before giving him one last steadfast look of reassurance.

“When do I ever?” He replied in jest, and he turned his back to walk away. Fenris nodded to Aveline, quietly wishing her success, and followed Hawke down the empty hallway through the prison.

Not a word was uttered between Hawke and Fenris. They had often discussed and planned for such situations, although they had never anticipated to implement them so soon – or for a reason such as thing. It was supposed to be strictly for the right opportunity, but nothing goes to plan, and chance takes its course more freely.

Last time, Hawke had relied on a proxy to cover for Aveline. This time, he would bloody his own hands. An impatient rage was blooming in his chest, the frustration and anger that had been festering under his skin every day he remained locked in the concrete hell that was the Tower and deprived of the answers he sought. Knowing they were so close at hand, within his reach, and yet so far it may as well have been a desert mirage…

He was livid, beyond proper expression and reason.

And despite his calm demeanour, Fenris was just as angry, if not more so given his recent attachment to the kidnapped blonde held in solitary below. His thoughts were plagued with questions that held no answers, and a guilty feeling that gnawed at him relentlessly and encroached on his dreams.

They walked in unison, each taking a slow gait towards the main halls of the cell blocks. Inmates who lingered outside their cells rested their gaze on Hawke, and once seeing the dark, almost heinous look in his eyes, stepped out of his way and followed once he had passed them. When those in their cells noticed the crowed following the two men, they too joined the flock.

The wardens on duty looked back at one another, concern written on their faces as they watched the gathering crowd that began to march from one end of the cell block to the other, headed towards the inner parts of the prison, where most inmate presence was heavily restricted. Any who approached were pulled into the crowd, and as they inmates marched on, the uniformed men were left lying on the floor, blood pooling onto the white floors. From within the crowd, items were passed between hands and to the front as they neared the wardens standing guard.

The wardens adjusted themselves, clearly unequipped to handle the situation at hand. As one began to turn and unlock a heavily barred door to another part of the prison, another began to issue a command over the portal radios attached to their uniforms.

But as they tried to, the items that were being shifted to the front were placed in Hawke’s hands. Cell inspections were frequent, but the wardens were lacking in their diligence to check the framework of their cots – some of which were often dismantled and parts broken off for special use.

Sharpened shivs were placed his Hawke’s hands, long pieces of slim metal that made a deadly weapon. He twisted them with his fingers briefly before holding them comfortably in his palms. They were hardly the knives he was accustomed to, but they would do well enough.

And it took all of a few brief seconds to latch onto the warden issuing an emergency command over their radio and silence the order. Hawke threw his weight into the person and caused them to stagger backwards until they hit the barred door, and with two swift movements, the shivs in Hawke’s hands were slashed across the wardens’ throat. The wound gaped as the blood splattered across Hawke’s chest and hands until it began to pour down the dying warden’s throat, who began to collapse and fall to the floor. The warden that had attempted to unlock the door yelped as Fenris wrapped his arm around their neck and tightened his grasp roughly. The warden struggled as Hawke leant down to pick up the radio that was buzzing with a faint voice.

“ _–your order. Warden, repeat your order!_ ” The voice on the radio shouted frantically, and Hawke paused as the blood began to pool at his feet and spread past him, droplets falling from his suddenly unsteady hands. A deep breath, followed by another, and he was calm again.

And pressing down on the button on the receiver, he spoke but a few simple words.

“It’s play time.” He murmured into the radio, and then dropped the object to the floor, where it caused some of the blood on the ground to splash.

In a quick shift of his arms, Fenris snapped the neck of the warden that was struggling in his grasp, and let their body drop to the ground to fall over the other corpse. Fenris bent to pick up the key card in the lifeless hand of the warden and wiped it across his thigh before placing it into the electronic lock. Much of the prison systems had been digitalised for convenience, and they took advantage of that. When the lock made a small beeping noise, following by a loud clanking sound, Hawke grabbed hold of the bars of the door and swung them hard to the right. The sound of metal jutting against its holding was quickly overridden by the sound of an ear piercing alarm, and turning to face those behind him, Hawke raised his head with a vehement glare.

“Remind them why you’re all here.”

There was a violent roar from the inmates, eager and passionate, and without hesitation, they rushed past Hawke and flooded the inner corridors of the Tower, ready to wreck what havoc they could. Hawke watched as they ran through the opened gate, but the sounds of their cheers and their thudding footsteps was drowned out by the shriek of the wailing sirens.

Hawke merely stood there, dropping his head until he could see the way the light above reflected off the dark red blood that was still spreading across the floor.

“We should get ready.” Fenris’ voice finally reached him after some time, and Hawke nodded after several more moments.

“Right…” Hawke murmured and inhaled deeply.

There was a sharp scent of copper in the air now. Turning on his heel, Hawke passed through the gate with Fenris, and not too far away, the sound of gunfire echoed, a sound barely heard over the vicious, almost war-driven cries of the inmates and the alarm that continue to blare.

 

* * *

 

Aveline did her best to ignore the high pitched scream of the alarm. She did not want to think about what Hawke might have set in motion that would warrant this response, and pushed it to the back of her mind. She had more important things to worry about.

There was no need for her to collect anything before she went about this course of action. Her file was falsified to conceal her involvement with Hawke, and any belongings she brought in were for purely practical reasons that wouldn’t trace her to any particular place. With any luck, by the time she had escaped, there would be very little that would clue them into where she would go, if anything at all.

All she needed to do was get to the solitary ward.

Her stomach churned painfully at the thought. She despised the idea of that place, despite its uses for the more dangerous people – provided it was done reasonably and with respect.

But this situation with Anders…he had been there for just short of two weeks. She could not even begin to imagine what possibly could have happened to him in that time. Normally there would be no cause for concern. But nothing about it was normal – not when Alrik was involved. There had been not even a whisper among the wardens about the matter. Those that had been involved in removing Anders from the cell block knew nothing of the reasons for it, and didn’t care to think about it. That in and of itself disgusted her. How easily they could overlook such disregard for a person’s humanity.

Aveline could count the times she had spoken to Anders on one hand. She didn’t know him well enough to have any strong emotion attached to his wellbeing. But she knew of Hawke’s and Fenris’ affections for him, how they genuinely cared about him despite the few months they had spent together. And she could not help but doubt the true character of the man who had been sent to prison, as the words Justice said made her doubtful that he truly belonged in the Tower. She knew far too little to judge whether or not there was a reason for him to be there, but she knew one thing with certainty.

No one would be eager for the attention of Warden Alrik. Not now, not ever.

And Alrik had been fixated on Anders for some time. In addition to her motives for helping Hawke, that itself was another reason entirely to disregard their original schemes.

The way to the solitary ward was not so forgotten to her. She had only been there once, maybe twice, during the time she had been employed at the Tower. But her memory was sharp, and she remembered the way with clarity. She was overly wary, moving as quickly as she could and looking back over her shoulder, fearful someone would be nearby. But to her luck, the wardens seemed to have already abandoned these hallways she roamed, moved to suppress the ongoing riot downstairs.

To each the cells far below the main floors of the Tower, Aveline would have to go through the elevator that was linked with the main sector of the solitary wing. Whilst she had no fears about being seen on the security footage at that point, she wanted to delay it as much as possible. She rounded a corner before reaching the elevator that would take her to a fire escape – one that was specifically linked to the underground ward. The first time she had been down there, it had been pointed out to her in case of emergencies. At the door, she paused, taking the time to yank the thin metal cover of the door’s alarm trigger. She couldn’t risk drawing active attention to this part of the prison just yet. It took all of a few seconds to snap the wires free, removing the risk of the fire alarm being triggered in addition to the alarm already going off, and stormed through the door without further fear it would be a hindrance.

She couldn’t count how many flights of stairs she ran down. She half-heartedly dreaded the thought of coming back up them later. When she reached the bottom, she paused, peering through the slim glass window into the solitary ward. It was bare and sterile, like a portal into another world, and she repeated the same act she had to the fire door many floors above. With another set of wires ripped from their sockets, Aveline slipped into the solitary ward.

She had only been there less than a handful of times, but it still sent a chill down her spine. It was unnaturally quiet, almost devoid of life. The hallways were long and illuminated by stale fluorescent lights, and on either side of the corridor were a series of barred and covered cell doors.

Aveline walked slowly, quietly, not knowing if there were wardens on duty down below – she didn’t want to alert anyone just yet.

The halls seemed endless. When she peered around a corner, Aveline could only see another stretch of barred and locked doors. She had no way of knowing which cell Anders was in – if he was even still alive at that point. After some slow, careful wandering, she stopped and pushed herself against a wall, hearing a far off noise of footsteps. She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat and remained as silent as possible, listening as the boots padded ever closer.

Her hand instinctively dropped to her thigh, fingers loosely clasping around the hilt of a standard issue taser. Her breathing slowed, and she bent her knees, lowering herself just slightly. Less of a target, less noticeable, position advantage. These thoughts passed through her mind, subconscious habits from years of training, on both a professional and more…base level.

Aveline’s green eyes flicked to the floor, waiting to see a shadow slip past, and judge where its owner would be headed. The closer they became, the more distinct the sounds were, and she quickly realised that there were at least two people, as the sounds of boots seemed to overlap one another; definitely a couple, some kind of patrol, walking in an unmatched gait. Moments of uneasy waiting passed, her only company the soft echoing of footsteps edging ever closer.

And then the shadow passed, a warden walking calmly, carrying some kind of tray in their hands. Another followed behind, yet another warden, walking languidly and without a care. Aveline shifted her hand, fingers twitching away from the taser and instead to the holstered gun at her hip. With two wardens…she could have a dirty advantage and take one as a hostage, if only momentarily.

She waited a moment longer before peeling away from the wall, quietly following after the pair of wardens. She did her best to soften her steps, walking lightly whilst keeping the pace of the warden that was lagging behind. The sounds of her steps could not be distinguished between their own, and neither warden suspected her presence.

“How long are we going to be on this patrol rotation?” The warden who lagged behind the other spoke up suddenly, and Aveline almost stumbled in surprise when she heard the bitterness in his voice.

“Quit complaining. Orders are orders.” The warden walking ahead, more dutifully and with purpose, did not turn to speak to the other, and Aveline refrained from mumbling a prayer to the Maker for that.

“Shitty orders.” The other warden spat harshly. “All we ever do is bring food down here, and clean up the mess after.”

“Are you going to whine all day?”

“Yeah! We might as well just eat the food ourselves if he’s going to starve himself.”

“Why do you care? At this rate, we’ll be hauling out another corpse in a week.”

Their conversation disturbed Aveline, beyond any scope of comprehension. How could they have such utter disregard for their charges? She dreaded to think of how many people had died in solitary – and to what end. She half-hoped she wasn’t being lead to Anders’ cell. Considering how many cells there were, it was possible.

Wasn’t it?

But she could only follow for so long, and she readied herself to pick up her pace as soon as she noticed the leading warden stop. Their head tilted up at the sound of an off-beat padding, unlike the sound of the warden that had been following her. The indifferent warden that had followed paused once noticing his superiors hesitation, and as he turned his head, was alarmed by the sight of Aveline barely an inch from his face, her arm already extended and wrapping around his neck.

“Stop right there!” The female warden dropped the tray she had been carrying, the food items of clattering against the ground as she frantically reached for her gun.

“Don’t.” Aveline’s growled the word, cold and harsh, and she pressed the barrel of the pistol she carried to the jaw of the warden she restrained. He was frozen, trapped by the muscled arm wrapped tightly around his neck, almost choking him. The female warden’s fingers twitched, and Aveline’s finger moved to the trigger, hovering over it as she pressed the barrel into her hostage’s flesh. “I said, _don’t_.”

“Alright…” The warden said quietly, moving to extend her hands up at her sides, showing she had no intention to reach for them again. “This is a restricted area, warden. Warden Commander Alrik–”

“–Shut up.” Aveline spat the words, and the warden silenced herself. “Is that Anders’ cell?”

“Who?” The warden raised a brow, and Aveline glared at her.

“Anders. Blonde hair, amber eyes. He has a terrible tattoo of a cat on his hip.” Aveline did her best to describe Anders, reaching from her memories of Hawke’s accounts and her own brief encounters.

“Wait,” The warden Aveline restrained spoke up, his voice hoarse suddenly, a result of nerves. “You mean number seventy-three?”

“What?” Aveline’s eyes darted to the side of the warden’s head, looking at him while keeping the other in her field of vision. “Seventy-three?”

“That what we were told to call him.” The warden spoke, and continued when Aveline buried the barrel of the gun deeper into his throat. “New solitary coding. Inmates are issue a number when they get down here.”

It wasn’t enough to lock them in a cage; to stripe them of their own name…it was degrading.

“Where is his cell?” She asked the question once more, the words biting and announcing her frustration.

“Down the hall.” The warden’s voice was getting quieter as she applied more pressure around his throat. “Same number...cell S-73.”

“You there,” Aveline cocked her head up, jerking her chin at the warden with their hands raised, addressing them now. “Strip yourself of your equipment. And don’t try anything.”

The warden nodded and complied and moved slowly, unclipping the belts at her hips that held her equipment in place. She then tossed it behind her, out of reach and out of her line of sight. Aveline sighed in relief at her reasonable attitude, and with a swift motion, tightened the arm that was wrapped around her hostage’s neck. The man reached up, digging his fingers into her arm and trying to pry the arm away, but to no avail. Aveline’s strength rivalled and surpassed many, and she was by no means afraid to use that strength in whatever way possible.

It’s not like how it is in the movies; when it takes only a few seconds to knock someone unconscious. It can take minutes, second by second of agonising waiting as the warden thrashed and gasped, unable to get the air into his emptying lungs. Eventually, his movements ceased, and when they did, Aveline dropped the unconscious warden to the ground.

The female warden flinched as his body thudded against the concrete floor, and Aveline’s gaze quickly switched to focus on her. Her feet took her forward within a few seconds, and the warden backed up instinctively, but halted just as quickly when Aveline raised the gun towards her. Aveline could see the sweat beading on her brow, the instinct fear that came with being between a rock and a hard place.

“You should quit.” Aveline said as she approached her, circling around to stand behind her. She could see the warden trembling, head dropping low as if accepting the blow that was to come. “The longer you stay in this place, the more it will poison you.”

Aveline’s hand jerked roughly, recoiling as she moved to thrust the butt of the pistol against the warden’s head. The blow had more than enough weight behind it to stagger the warden, who collapsed on the ground holding her head in her heads, wincing and trembling. Aveline stood over her for a while, waiting until the last of her senses left her, and once they had, she heaved a shaking, wearisome sigh.

She holstered the pistol, and was again thankful there had been no need to shed blood. But she could not risk the two awakening before she wanted them to. She stepped over the mess of food to pick up the belt the other warden had discarded, pulling a set of keys and key cards from the strappings. She unlocked the nearest cell, and once certain it was empty, two the time to drag the unconscious wardens into there, only to lock them inside to keep them from rising an alarm down below.

Cell S-73…

Checking that the cell was properly locked, Aveline began to look around the doors, searching for the labelling. They were located on the upperpart of the doorframes, embedded into the metal surface. She wasn’t far off, as they had said. She walked on, her eyes following the numbers with a twisted feeling of anxiety knotting and churning in her stomach.

And when she stopped, she could feel her pulse beating rapidly under her skin, her heart banging against her chest. She did her best to still the trembling of her hands as she raised one of the key cards to the electronic pad beside the door that controlled the outer guard door – the only the blocked any light entering the cell. When the key card had been read successfully, she was able to pull the door open and slid it across, allowing light to spill into the room.

She could see the outline of the bars on the ground, her silhouette framed by them as she looked into the room. In the back corner of the cell, she could see a figure crouched, huddled up, as if hiding.

“Anders?” She called out with uncertainty, but there was no reaction from the person.

With little further hesitation, Aveline unlocked the barred cell door, casting it open and she walked into the cell. The person huddled in the corner of the room didn’t seem to acknowledge her presence, and she slowly kneeled in front of them, not wanting to startle them.

Aveline whispered his name once more, hoping to warrant a response from him. She received none. But this close, she knew it was him. That shoulder length blonde hair of his had grown since the last time she had seen him, now falling below the shoulder-line of his frail looking form. He was pale, more so than usual, and that made the dark bruises around his neck, around his wrists, on his face, all the more visible.

But what troubled her most was the vacant look in his eyes. The golden brown eyes were dark, void of life, and the pupils so dilated that the iris was almost consumed by them. Aveline carefully lifted a hand, waving it in front of his eyes. They didn’t even move, didn’t even register the movement in any way. She lowered her hand just so, her fingers mere millimetres from his mouth and nose. She could feel his breath; slow and warm.

Alive, and yet gone.

Aveline paused for a while longer, staring at his face, and then examining the track marks from needle punctures on his exposes forearms.

“What have they done to you…?” Considering the state he was in, she may as well have been speaking to herself.

As confident as she was she could carry him out, she doubted that she would be able to sneak him past near-legion quantity of wardens above in the Tower. Not without killing them both in the process. She had no idea if moving him in that state could be lethal, and she doubted that Varric would be immediately equipped to handle such a situation.

It was a pre-determined decision. The odds staked against her in this case, no matter how much she wanted to haul him out of that cell, and not just for his own sake.

But knowing that he was still alive…if only barely…that meant that there was some hope.

Things would need to move much more quickly from that point onwards.

Casting Anders one last sympathetic glance, Aveline stood, and readied herself to flee the Tower.

 

* * *

 

The backroom of the Hanged Man was unusually silent. Generally, the muffled sound of cursing could be heard by the staff who came and went to drop off packages to Varric. But today, there was nothing, only silence, and whenever someone came to the locked door, the dwarf shooed them away.

He had received a message that morning that a riot had been instigated at the Tower. He wasn’t all that surprised, given that Hawke had seemed more than a little distressed by recent events in their last meeting together.

But the wait for more news…it was killing him, slowly and surely.

He drummed his fingers on the desk slowly, it was the only thing to occupy his time. He couldn’t stand to bring himself away from the phone as he waited for it to ring. What news would he be told by his informants? He longed yet loathed to hear it, for good or ill.

At the sound of knocking on the door, the blonde dwarf grunted under his breath, and opted to ignore whomever was there. However, after several seconds of silence, the knocking resumed, louder, and more frequently, until he raised his voice and shouted at the person to get lost.

“ _S-sir…someone’s here to see you._ ” The voice was muffled behind the door, and Varric ground his teeth together.

“Tell them I’m busy!” Varric hissed the words, and they vibrated with his frustrations.

“ _He’s insisting, sir._ ” The soft voice persisted. There was a sound of shuffling, a voice speaking words he could not hear and Varric lifted his head to look at the door a little. “ _He has information about Hawke._ ”

Hawke? Impossible. Few people even knew where he was these days. Only those within their small circle of friends new. Wary, Varric placed his hand under the desk, fingers clasping around the hilt of a shotgun. _Bianca II_. Far from the excellence that was the original, a marvellous crossbow protected in his estate. He would so hate for her to be stolen, or damaged, considering his line of work these days. She could never be replaced, but a close relative of a sort had been arranged for more practical use.

“Send him in.”

There was a brief pause as the door was unlocked by the loyal staff, and Varric watched a tall, aged man entered his office wearing a heavy overcoat. Considering the only light came from a small lamp on his desk, it took him a moment to recognise the seemingly frail old man whose sunken, light blue eyes examined the dim, unkempt room. When he did, his grip on the shotgun’s hilt loosened, and he brought his hand to his chin to rub it in surprise.

“Chancellor Justice…this is a surprise.” Varric thought aloud, his brows knotting in confusion. “Doing personal inspections these days?”

“I’m too busy with politics these days to busy myself with my old duties.” Justice’s voice was as he remembered it; stern and steadfast, but not without respect of a sort. “But considering recent events, I thought I might drop by.”

“And whatever for? I can’t imagine there’s much of interest to you in my shabby office.”

“You jest, but I am not here to trade barbs and beat around the bush.”

There was it again; direct and candid. It almost sent a chill up his spine, that kind of seriousness.

“Well then. You have information?” It would hardly surprise him at this point, given Aveline’s last revelation about his knowledge of Hawke’s background – and the fact he had gone to the trouble of covering it up as best he could given the circumstances.

“Not exactly. That was just to get your attention.” Justice said as he approached the desk, standing in front of it. He pulled something from the pocket of his overcoat – a small box – and placed it on the desk. “I have something I would like you to pass onto my son, when the time comes.”

“What is it?” Varric questioned him, suspicious of its contents. It looked like the casing of a fancy pen.

“Something left behind by a dear friend.” Justice’s words carried a sadness in them, a hint of regret. “There’s a letter inside. Please refrain yourself from reading it.”

“I make no promises.”

“You will, if you want my next offer.”

“Oh?”

Justice said nothing else as he pulled a slip of paper from the inner-pocket of his coat, and laid it face up on Varric’s desk. He pushed it forward and pulled his hand back, and Varric was quick enough to pick it up. A cheque, with an almost absurd amount written on it.

“A deposit.” Varric lifted his head when Chancellor Justice spoke again, and was once again surprised as he saw a sly smirk coming over the old man’s wrinkling face. “I anticipate you will need some help in your next endeavour.”

“And what would you know about my endeavours?” Varric smirked at him, his question playful, but probing nonetheless.

“I know you’ve sent some messengers to snoop around Tal-Vasoth sites outside the city.” Justice said as he shifted his gaze to look at the mass of papers overflowing on Varric’s desk. “I imagine that persuading them to your plans is rather difficult without a financier.”

“And where, oh where, are these finances coming from?” Another question, more direct, but Varric was more than a little curious as to where such an amount was coming from. And whether there was an ulterior motive it in being placed in his hands.

“Interested parties. Arrangements have been made, so don’t waste this opportunity.” Justice said frankly, and Varric saw him turning, preparing himself to leave. There were still a hundred other questions Varric wanted to ask him. About this and other things. Mostly those other things; about how an old man on the council seemed to have his fingers in all his pies. Justice looked at the box he had reluctantly handed over, the plastic wrapping of it intact as it sat on Varric’s desk. “When the time comes, Varric.”

Justice said nothing else as he left, and Varric could only sit in silence as the door was shut and the muffled sound of footsteps in the hall faded out of existence.

‘ _Sneaky old man…_ ’ Varric thought, and he cast he gaze back at the cheque before slipping it up his sleeve. In doing so, his gaze shifted to the box sitting almost abandoned on his desk, and Varric reached for it. The plastic wrapping the kept the lid from sliding off crinkled under his fingertips, but his curiosity was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

Varric almost dropped the box in surprise, and he hastily answered the phone, standing out of his chair as he did so.

“Yes?” He answered all too eagerly, and his stomach lurched as he waited for the response. The voice on the other end was frantic, breathless, and yet all too stubborn at once.

Varric listened to her words, and he almost wished Justice hadn’t left as Aveline relayed the news about Blondie. Then again…he wondered if the old man didn’t already know, in some way. He seemed to know an awful lot of things these days.

“Keep your head down Aveline. I’ll send someone to escort you to the safe house now.”

“ _Varric, we need to_ –”

“–I know. I’ll meet you there later. I need to make some calls real quick.”

“ _We don’t have the time_ –”

“–Trust me Aveline. We’re going to need more manpower for next stage, now more than ever that Hawke’s pulled this stunt.”

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

“It’s time to chase that rat back to its nest, and blow the fucking thing into the Void itself.”


	15. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I'm so very sorry for not having updated this story sooner! Lot of things happened in regards to uni and family and money and I was in a poor state of mind in terms of getting writing done in my down time. This chapter is slightly longer than others, though that doesn't exactly make up for it.
> 
> I want to quickly thank everyone for their patience in waiting for this chapter and again, I am so freaking sorry it took so long! I hope you're all well, and I won't keep you reading this summary longer, so enjoy the read!

Varric owned many safe houses in Kirkwall, most of them tucked away in Darktown under a name not his own, and usually those were the safest. Out of sight, out of mind, far enough down a dark alley that peering eyes would see nothing but shadows. He took the usual route through the Undercity, keeping out of the crowded streets. Certain that he wasn’t being followed, Varric drifted from the wide backstreets into a smaller, narrower series of side streets. He navigated them with ease, taking twists and turns that would confuse anyone who didn’t know the way. Eventually he reached a dead end, or so it would seem. Stepping towards the far wall, Varric lifted his boot and stomped twice on the ground. The dirt under his feet shook more than it should have, as if something under it buckled, and when he took a step back, he heard the familiar sound of a hatch being flicked open.

Staring down, he watched as a concealed cellar door opened, and a bright smile was directed up at him.

“Varric! It’s good that you’re here, Aveline just arrived.” The pale Dalish girl smiled up at him, although it was hollow, and the look in her eyes was less than cheery, however she tried. Varric could see she was tired, worried. But still strong, still there.

“Good to see you too Merrill,” Varric greeted her as he stepped down into the cellar, helping Merrill to close the reinforced cellar door and lock it once more. “How is she?”

“She was injured leaving the Tower, but she seems fine. I’ve patched her up as best I could for now.” Merrill hopped down the stairs and turned to face Varric as he trod down them in short order, walking with her down a dimly lit corridor.

“Is it serious?” He asked with a raised brow, and Merrill was hesitant to nod her head.

“She was shot clean through the shoulder. I stopped the bleeding, but if there’s too much strain, the wound will reopen.” Merrill explained Aveline’s condition effortlessly. Though she was no doctor, she was the closest thing their little group had to one, given her experiences with the Dalish outcasts. But they had to make do for the time being; it was all they could do.

Entering one of the rooms in the far end of the corridor, Varric’s gaze examined the room briefly, an old habit he found hard to shake, especially when it had saved his life countless times over. There was little furnishing, however decent it was; a few chairs haphazardly surrounding a table with bloodied medical equipment left on it, and several steel lockers pressed against the far wall, each locked with a unique series of locks. Aveline sat hunched at the table, her head hung and her right arm cradling her blood-smeared shoulder. The uniform shirt of the Tower lay discarded on the table, leaving her only in a sports bra that was more than a little bloody.

When she heard them enter, Aveline lifted her head, and the weary look she wore vanished. Once again, she was ready. Varric admired her loyalty in a way and chuckled quietly as he approached.

“Well, well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Varric jested, and his gaze drifted to her bandaged shoulder. The bandages themselves were spotted with blood from where the wound sat beneath, and the skin surrounding it was pale and freckled, and whatever blood had been there had been hurriedly washed away, leaving only the faint blood smears that remained now.

“I’d say the same, but you’d catch me in a lie.” Aveline tried to smirk a little, tried to huff and be smug about her retort, but a sharp pain bolted through her shoulder and down her arm, and her expression twisted as she winced in pain.

Varric was quiet as she kneaded her shoulder gently, doing what she could not to disturb the bandaging. He looked around the room briefly, and noticing a missing person, turned to Merrill.

“Where’s Isabela? We need to get moving.”

“She’s asleep in the other room, I’ll go wake her.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

The familiar nickname rolled off his tongue without thought, and he caught the briefest glimpse of a genuinely happy smile on Merrill’s face as she quickly dashed back out the room. Aveline’s gaze followed her until she left, and promptly shifted back to Varric as he sat down at the table, heaving a heavy sigh as he did so.

“What took you so long?” Aveline hissed the words without having intended to. Though annoyed, she was more worried than anything else, and the pain in his shoulder did nothing to put her in a better mood.

“Arrangements needed to be made. I caught a break with a new source. Hopefully it’ll prove useful it getting Hawke’s dumb arse out of that prison.” Varric said rubbed his calloused hands over his face. He wiped his eyes as if removing sleep, though in reality he hadn’t slept for some time – at least not well.

“I can hardly believe it’s happening right now. This wasn’t the plan, we were supposed to have more time.” Aveline rambled under her breath, shaking her head slightly as she did so.

“I know. But we haven’t been this close to finding answers in three years. I’d forego a little preparedness if it meant getting us a foothold on some real information.” Varric replied, as frustrated as she was. But when he looked at her again, there was something off in her expression. Something cold, and yet sullen. “What is it?”

“Hawke’s friend, Anders…Maker’s breath…” Aveline shook her head and leaned back in her chair. She avoided Varric’s state by looking to the bland wall beside the table. There was a moment of silence, and in that time, a hundred things went through her mind. Above all was a single question she dared not ask herself. She trusted Hawke, and despite their differences, she trusted Varric. She believed they were doing the right thing. And yet…

“Aveline?” Varric prompted her, and she blinked, as if being awoken from a hazy dream.

“It had better be worth it.” She said and adjusted herself in her seat to be more comfortable. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Varric didn’t get a chance to question her further on what she meant, as in that moment, his phone began to buzz in his pocket. He took it out quickly and looked at it questioningly. The phone number wasn’t labelled unknown, but it wasn’t a number he recognised. Only a few people knew the number of the personal phone he carried, and given his current company, there was only one person he could think of. He accepted the call and immediately put the phone on speaker, and as soon as he did, he could hear a faint alarm ringing through the phone’s speaker.

“ _Varric? You there?_ ” Hawke’s familiar voice echoed through the speaker, and a wave of relief swept over both Varric and Aveline respectively.

“How’re you holding up Hawke? What’s the situation?” Varric stood out of his seat and pressed his hands onto the table’s edge, leaning against it as he spoke. Varric didn’t bother to ask where the phone came from. He knew Hawke had probably swiped it from a corpse within the Tower as they advanced through the sectors.

“ _We’ve made it to one of the security hubs. Just trying to unlock some of the other cell blocks to buy more time to get where we need to be._ ” Hawke’s voice was faded slightly; he likely had the phone on speaker himself. His voice was calm, and that was as reassuring as it got all things considered.

“Do what you can, but don’t make it your priority Hawke. Things’ll hopefully get easier for you in the next–” Varric cut himself short as he quickly twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. “–twenty-eight minutes.”

“ _Alright, thanks…did Aveline get out?_ ” Hawke was hesitant to ask, as if he didn’t want to know the answer just yet.

“I’m right here, Hawke.” Aveline leaned forward and spoke louder enough to be heard. “Are you alright?”

“ _Not really. What happened in solitary? Did you find Anders?_ ” As Hawke asked these questions, Isabela and Merrill entered the room, with the former promptly dressing herself as she came in. Varric merely shook his head and rolled his eyes a little as he looked back at the phone.

“I did, but… Hawke, he- he’s not all there.” Aveline closed her eyes, as if trying to find the right words. From the look on her face, Varric wondered if there were even proper words to describe whatever she had seen. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know himself.

“ _Explain_.”

“I don’t know what they’ve done to him Hawke. As far as I can tell they’re dosed him up on…something. He wasn’t responsive when I saw him.”

“ _But he was alive…?_ ”

“If you could call it living, then yes.”

“ _That will have to do. We’ll figure out what to do with him when we’re out_.”

“And how exactly are you planning to do that?” Isabela joined the fray, raising a perfectly plucked brow and putting her hands on her hips as she scowled at the phone. “It was hard enough getting out with _clearance_. How do you intend to break out from the bowels of the joint?”

“ _We’re working on it. I need you to intercept us when we get out though._ ” Hawke deflected her question quickly.

“Uh-huh. _If_ you get out.” Isabela crossed her arms and huffed a little.

“Enough.” Varric growled the word a little and tapped his thumbs impatiently against the tabletop. “Isabela and Merrill will be waiting for you. Just stay alive long enough for reinforcements to breach the prison.”

“ _Got it._ ” Hawke replied curtly over the sound of the alarm, and Varric narrowed his gaze at the phone.

“Did you hear me, Hawke?” Varric almost snapped the words, not out of anger though. A little certainty that his closest friend was returning alive was all he needed.

“ _Yes, I got it; live, don’t die, pay my tab. I got it_ –”

“ _Hawke! Time to go!_ ”

“– _Shit…! I’ll contact you when we’re out._ ”

Fenris had interrupted Hawke, whatever for he wasn’t sure, but Varric had a twisting feeling in the pit of his gut that told him it wasn’t good.

The call ended before Varric could question him about him, and he shoved himself away from the table. Isabela relaxed her stance and glanced at Merrill, who returned her worried stare, and there was a heavy moment of silence as Varric paced back and forth before the table, rubbing the space between his knitting brows.

“Varric?” Aveline called to him, and he halted his stride long enough to address them again.

“Ravaini, Daisy; you two know what to do. Keep a low profile, you know what to do.” Varric directed them, and Isabela nodded, quickly ushering to Merrill to retrieve their gear. As Merrill bounded over to the steel lockers against the far wall, Varric turned to Aveline. “Can you move?”

“I would even if I couldn’t.” Aveline raised herself up and straightened.

Sometimes he forget just how tall and muscular she was. Though with the current situation, it’s easy to forget how often she had thrown and hauled Hawke’s arse about when he got in too deep. Before Merrill and Isabela left, Merrill approached her and handed her a clean shirt to wear instead of her wearing the bloodied uniform she had had to discard a while ago. With a brief thanks, the foreign thief and the Dalish elf left without another word to do their part.

“Alright, let’s get to the next safe house. And then…we wait, I guess.” Varric sighed as he left the room with Aveline walking close at his heels.

“You should get some sleep while you can, once we’re there.” Aveline suggested in a quiet voice. She knew how exhausting his role in all this had been. The hardest part of her job had been trying to resist the urge to thrash the morons who wore the same uniform. Varric had had to keep track of several people and facilities, all while investigating and reinvestigating what they knew and what was new.

“It’s a good idea, but there’s work to be done.” Varric smiled bitterly as he looked up at Aveline. “You know how it goes; no rest for the wicked.”

“Well, you certainly are wicked.”

“Aren’t we all?”

 

* * *

 

 “Hawke! Time to go!” Fenris hissed the words harshly as he stood guard at the door, fixing a determined glare through the narrow gap. From down the hall he could see guards rushing towards the security hub he and Hawke and fought their way into.

“–Shit…! I’ll contact you when we’re out.” Hawke ended the call quickly and stuffed the phone into an inner pocket sown into his prison jumpsuit before promptly tearing himself away from the security terminal. He had only managed to unlock a few of several dozen cell blocks as each required their own override code – and he had little enough time as it was to dally about keying them all in.

Away from the flicking screens of the carnage occurring floors below, Hawke stepped over the bloody body of a guard and rolled it over to a pistol from the holster on the guard’s belt. He made a quick whistling noise that caught Fenris’ attention, as just as the elf turned to look at him, Hawke carefully tossed the gun in his direction. Fenris caught it quickly, the weight of the black metal weighing his hand down a moment as he got used to it. He unloaded the clip to ensure it was loaded, and certain it was, slid it back into place with a sharp jab and cocked it. He had very little experience with guns. His crimes had been far more personal, more hands-on. But he could ill afford not to be armed in that moment.

Hawke had quickly scavenged the other two guards they had had to tousle with when they breached the security hub and took another pistol from one. As Fenris leaned against the wall closest to the door, peering carefully through at the slight opening at the approaching guards, Hawke laid himself on the ground behind one of the dead guards to shield himself, moving the arm that held the gun under the torso of it. When Fenris glanced at Hawke, who quickly nodded at him, Fenris stepped away from the door to hide himself with the dark shadows of the already unlit room.

The next few moments were a blur to them. As the door was flung upon and bright white light from the corridor beyond disturbed the dark room, Hawke twisted his wrist and aimed upward, trying to aim as carefully as he could in a mere moment from behind a corpse.

The sound of the gunshot echoed, and there was a brief moment when the guards – who had been silently staring into the room – were startled and taken aback. Even more so when one of them slumped against the door jam, a hand tightly pressed to the side of their neck. With another few seconds gone, the other wardens composed themselves and fired in Hawke’s direction, the bullets either whizzed through the air above him or became buried in the body of the guard shielding him. If he wasn’t dead before, he surely had no chance now. From the shadows unseen, Fenris lifted the weighty gun in his hands and fired with precision, unloading only three shots that became lodged in the temple of each guard.

Hawke lifted his head from behind the corpse to see the bodies of the wardens at the door stumble forward and backwards before toppling over, blood splatters on the open door and the ground. As he stood, Fenris moved away from the shadows to approach the guard that was slumped against the wall, a bloody hand pressed as tightly as possible to the wound on their neck. Blood poured down the front of their uniform, making it wet and glisten in the light that shone from the hallway.

Fenris almost pitied the guard. Wondered for a moment what kind of life they lived outside this prison. But in that moment, Hawke approached from behind and raised the pistol he carried, and the silence of the room was shattered by one last gunshot, followed by the heavy thump of the body colliding with the ground.

“We’ve got access to the upper levels now.” Hawke said curtly as he leaned down to unlatched the extra pistol clips from the guards belt. “Let’s go before more show up.”

“Of course.” Fenris answered swiftly and turned his gaze away, taking one of the pistol clips Hawke had extended to him. They wasted no time moving on, and hurried down the corridor to a fire escape nearby.

They needed to make a brief stop before going into solitary. The lower sectors were still blocked off, locked down from a security terminal that had been recently established, as Aveline had told them before they rashly put this plan of theirs into action. Nonetheless, there was little else they could do but push on with what they knew.

And all things considered in such circumstances, there was one certainty for them: the new Warden Commander would surely know where such a terminal was located in the prison.

Once in the fire escape, they began to run upwards, knowing that their destination was close to the very top of the Tower. Every step of the way there was panic in their veins – that sound, was that someone below? Above? How much time had passed since they had contacted Varric? How were they going to pull this off?

They had no answers to the questions burning hot in their minds and focused on what they could – reaching Alrik’s office. Luck was on their side, as when they carefully checked the corridor leading to the office, the entirety of it was empty.

“Evacuated?”

“More likely reinforcements for below…”

“Let’s do this quickly.”

They wasted not a second more and slipped into the hallway, scanning the metal plaques on the doors for a particular title or name. Once there, Hawke briefly paused to gawk at the sight of the plaque itself – _Warden Commander Otto Alrik_ – he almost missed Meredith in that moment. He turned his head to Fenris, who nodded quickly in turn, and they each took a position. Fenris leaned against the wall beside the door as Hawke took several steps back until he could press his foot against the wall behind him. He shifted back and forth for a moment before lunging forward, slamming the majority of his weight against the door. The loud sound of the joints buckling and snapping came with the door behind knocked off its hinges, and Fenris promptly followed behind Hawke who was pulling himself off the ground.

He gazed down the sights of the pistol, but to his disappointment, the office was empty.

“Should’ve knocked first, I guess…” Hawke groaned as he rubbed his shoulder and moved around the office, beginning a hasty search.

Nothing else was said as they each began to scavenge the room. Hawke yanked open filing cabinets and flipped through, looking for anything relating to a recent relocation of security equipment. Fenris on the other hand, moved to Alrik’s desk and began rifling through a series of discarded papers there. One of them caught his eye more than the others – it was different in colour and texture, and slipping it out from the pile and laying it flat upon the desk, he narrowed his eyes at it.

“Hawke, what’s this?” Fenris hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was – and he silently cursed his illiteracy for it. Hawke quickly moved to his side and slid his hand across the surface, looking at it with confusion plastered across his bearded face.

“It’s a blueprint.” He said as his eyes examined the faded drawings. “I don’t recognise this part of the prison though…”

Hawke silenced himself as he examined it more closely, doing his best to read the chicken-scrawl notes scattered in the margins of the blueprint. Fenris watched his expression turn from confusion into one almost of awe.

“What is it?” Fenris demanded to know as he looked between Hawke and the blueprint.

“This is it- this…this is how he did it…!” Hawke turned to Fenris with an enlightened glint in his eyes. He pressed his hand to the blueprint again, looking at it once more. “These- they’re tunnels, they extend right under solitary and go for miles out beyond this place. This is how why we never saw people come out from solitary.”

“That bastard’s been smuggling people out?” Fenris growled as he narrowed his eyes at the blueprint once more. “ _Venhedis_ …”

“Those tunnels have to go out somewhere – that’s our way out.” Hawke said as he began to scavenge other parts of the desk.

“That doesn’t solve the question of how we get in there–” Fenris was cut off by the sound of a far off explosion that vibrated through the Tower, and Hawke shoved himself away from the desk to move back towards the door.

“We’ll improvise, doesn’t seem like we have much choice now.” Hawke didn’t look back at Fenris, as if expecting Fenris to be at his heels. As the elf stepped towards the door, he took one last look at the office overflowing with boxes of papers and files. Oh, the information that might be hidden within it all. Not that he would be able to read it. But its worth could not be denied.

Even so, the worth of such information was secondary to the life that had been endangered far below him. Picking up his pace, and quickly joined Hawke’s side once more as they barrelled down the fire escape. They hurried down the steps as quickly as they could while being careful not to trip and break their ankles tumbling down the flights of stairs.

What luck they had earlier disappeared as they bounded down a flight of stairs just as the door below them opened and a handful of guards entered the stairwell, descending themselves.

With a loud heaving noise, Hawke grabbed onto the railing and threw himself over the bars to throw himself down onto the guards, colliding with two and knocking one to the ground as he latched onto one, dragging them down and falling down a flight of stairs. Fenris ducked as best he could on the stairs above, calling out Hawke’s name in worry as he fired round after round in quick succession at the wardens in the doorway. A bullet fired in his direction chipped the concrete stairs and the shards of it scrapped against Fenris’ brow, causing a slow flow of blood to pour out from the small but numerous cuts and force him to close one of his eyes.

The sound of gunfire echoed in unbearable volumes in the extensive stairwell, bullets ricocheting off the metal bars and rails and becoming lodged in the concrete walls or stairs. More gunshots came from below, and suddenly the last of the wardens fell silent, their bodies limp on the ground and weapons discarded.

“Hawke!” Fenris cried out as he hauled himself to his feet, wiping his brow and eye furiously to clear up his vision.

“I’m fine…!” Hawke wheezed as he put he met Fenris halfway up the stairs onto the small platform almost entirely occupied with the recent dead. The blood pooled around them and soaked the bottoms of their shoes. “Fuck, I’m getting too old for this.”

“Perhaps you should consider a retirement plan.” Fenris huffed with a half-hearted smirk, though his gaze drifted to a large red patch that was spreading across the front of Hawke’s shirt. Hawke followed his gaze down, staring at the small bullet-hole in his jumpsuit on the far side of his waist. Gently touching his side and peering over his shoulder, Hawke sighed quietly. The bullet seemed to have only knicked the side of his chest, and although the area was beginning to burn as if a red hot rod was being pushed through his torso, he was confident he wouldn’t bleed out and die from a wound of that nature.

“That’s going to sting later…” Hawke muttered under his breath and Fenris all but rolled his eyes. Hawke’s ability to brush off such things was infuriating – though the elf knew that if Hawke were seriously injured, he would not be able to joke about it.

Taking a moment to loot the deceased guards for more pistol clips – and also to catch their breath, however reluctantly – Hawke rolled one of them over and paused as he noticed one of them unarmed and clutching something tightly in their palm. Opening their hand, Hawke removed a bloody stained key card from it and wiped it clean on the shoulder of his jumpsuit, smirking a little as he looked at it again.

“Well, well…” Hawke mused as he stood up, grinning at Fenris who did so as well. “What have we here.”

Fenris merely shook his head as Hawke continued to grin. Cocking his head to the side, Hawke began to descend the stairs once more, and Fenris followed keenly at his heels.

Once again, they made their way deeper in the depths of the Tower. Neither of them had believed they would have entered this sector – not of their own free will at least. It was colder than the other parts of the prison, possibly because they were already below ground. There were no windows in the stairwell so it was impossible to tell.

Eventually the stairs stopped and they stood before a wide door with a keypad on the side of it. The door lacked any kind of windows, and Hawke swallowed the lump in his throat as he prepared himself for what was on the other side. Quickly, Hawke inserted the key card into the electronic lock, only for a red light to appear, followed by a sharp and unpleasant beeping sound. Cursing, Hawke ripped it out and rubbed it against his jumpsuit again and again, hoping it would be enough. Once more he tried, with the same result. The third time was the same, up until the door itself opened from within and a guard was stepping out.

“What the hell are you morons doing–” The warden had barely finished his sentence before Fenris had grabbed hold of his wrist and dragged him into the stairwell. Hawke quickly threw his arms around the guard’s neck, locking them in between tight muscles as their face quickly turned red under a calloused hand that was clamped over their mouth and nose. Fenris held their wrists tightly to stop them from prying Hawke’s arms away or reaching for a weapon, and he winced and grunted when the guard kicked at his chest in his last moments of resistance.

Hawke’s expression became strained as he tensed his muscles tightly once more, pressing his forearm down harder on his windpipe until the guard no longer kicker nor released a muffle cry against Hawke’s hand. Hawke held onto the guard for several long moments after until the guard fell completely limp between them, and Hawke loosened his hold and let the guard slump against the floor.

Breathing hard, Hawke cast one glance at the guard before he peered into the unwelcoming corridor of the solitary wing and entered. Fenris followed quickly thereafter, pausing long enough to take the guard’s own key card from his person. He avoided looking at their redden face and wide glassy eyes as he did so.

They couldn’t feel sorry for them. Not then, at least. They had to find Anders, and quickly.

The corridors of the solitary wing seemed endless. Glaring white and pristine – it was eerily reminiscent of the kind of mental institutes one would see in an old noir film of some sort. But they could not be distracted. As they moved down the hallway, they glanced at the neatly aligned cells on either side of hall. The cells were unlocked and opened wide, and empty; save for harrowing echoes of what had occurred within as displayed through bloodied claw marks upon the walls and scrawls of words written in blood on every surface. Fenris dreaded the thought of what Anders’ cell might be like.

“Where are they all…?” Fenris whispered the question, as if afraid Hawke might hear and answer him. In the silence of the solitary wing, where their only company was the echo of their own footsteps, Hawke easily heard him.

“They’re probably being herded through those tunnels we saw in Alrik’s office.” Hawke spoke regretfully and began to quicken his pace as he said the words. Part of him feared that perhaps they were too late. Neither of them needed to say it. They were both thinking it.

But suddenly, voices from a distant made them freeze in their tracks. Moving as quickly and quietly as they could, Hawke and Fenris dashed towards an intersection of hallways within the solitary wing. Hawke carefully peered around the corner, being careful not to expose himself too much.

And there he was, the bastard himself.

Warden Commander Otto Alrik, with half a dozen lackeys following eagerly behind him out of a set of wide double doors.

“Get back…!” Hawke hissed quietly as he reached behind him and shoved against Fenris’ chest. They were out-numbered, and there was nothing around to use as cover if it came to it.

Quickly and without much thought, they shifted into one of the unlocked cells, hiding against the walls near the door and relying on the darkness of the cell to obscure them. With hearts beating loudly in their chests, they could only wait

The footsteps grew louder, as did the voices, and Hawke assumed they had entered the hallway they had been in. Hawke silently prayed they wouldn’t go and use the stairwell they had used to access the solitary wing. If they discovered the body – no, bodies – they were at risk. But Hawke quickly put it out of his mind. Alrik was an aged man, even if he was healthy in some way, he wouldn’t be able to climb so many flights of stairs.

He hoped, at least.

“–and I want a thorough report once these dim witted criminals have been admitted into the House of Tranquillity.” The sound of Alrik’s voice was as sickening as ever – chilling and cringe-worthy. But worse than his voice were the words he spoke. House of Tranquillity? Hawke glanced at Fenris in the dark cell, and he was certain that Fenris’ dreadful expression mirrored his own.

Whatever that place was, Hawke new it would be full of bad news – and unfortunately for him – answers.

“What of the Tower reports, sir?”

“Falsify them. This little riot, however troublesome, is the perfect excuse. Note that they died during the assault, their bodies unrecognisable. We can replace _them_ with any dead inmates. I’ll leave the rest to your discretion.”

“Of course, sir–”

Alrik’s faithful henchmen was interrupted by the sound of a loud, however muffled, explosion from far above, likely within the Tower itself, or within the premises of it. Several other explosions followed immediately thereafter, the force more than enough to make the walls vibrate and the lights flicker.

“Maker’s breath, what was that?” Alrik demanded to know, and just as Hawke dared to peek out of the cell, the party of guards passed by his cell. They avoided detection only because Fenris had been swift enough to yank Hawke’s head out of their line of sight.

As the group headed down the hall, it made it easier for Hawke and Fenris to see them as the angle protected them.

“ _Sir! The gate’s been breached and the internal administration area was just destroyed!_ ” A frantic voice from a static-riddled radio sounded from Alrik’s waist. As Alrik lifted his hand to remove it, Hawke and Fenris began to slip out of the cell and back away in the direction the guards had come from.

“Damnit! Don’t just stand there, go!” Alrik commanded the wardens at his side and they dashed forward ahead of him as Hawke and Fenris moved out of side around the corner, quickly running off towards the double doors they had seen moments ago.

“Varric’s reinforcements?” Fenris huffed as they ran towards the doors, and Hawke grit his teeth.

“If they aren’t I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out!” Hawke snapped the words, though more so out of concern than ill-intent, and he skidded to a halt in front of the double doors.

Crouching together, Hawke and Fenris pushed one of the heavy doors open slightly to look inside. The room was considerably darker in comparison to the whiteness of the solitary wing. It was a large open room, much like a garage of a sort, with a single row of several dark trucks assembled in front of a wide tunnel that was lit by warm yellow lights, stretching into the dark. They were designed for the transport of prisoners in extreme cases, but these trucks in particular lacked the elaborate sigil of a flaming sword that was the embodiment of the Tower.

There were a few wardens on duty, though not many, but what caught their eye above all else was the way that the solitary inmates were lined up in neat rows, waiting to be obediently placed in a truck. Hawke and Fenris watched for a moment as the wardens physically escorted the inmates onto the trucks, clearly needing the guidance to do so.

Fenris didn’t understand why they didn’t run. If there was any chance for them, it was then and there. So why not?

But suddenly he recalled the conversation from merely a half hour ago that had drifted to the back of his mind.

Aveline had said Anders _wasn’t all there_. If that was the case, was it not the same for the others? His eyes scanned the rows of prisoners in white uniforms but he could not make out any distinguishing features. There were simply too many to be able to look between and pick him out clearly.

Putting it aside do deal with the here and now, Fenris continued to scan the room. There was nothing else within, nothing they could hide behind. Not even a conveniently placed trash can or a crate of some sort.

“What do we do now?” Fenris murmured softly and looked at Hawke.

Hawke was silent for a moment, staring at the inmates with sympathetic eyes before looking at Fenris with a knowing look. Fenris glanced to and fro between Hawke and the inmates before understanding what he meant. He pursed his lips tightly upon the realisation. It shouldn’t bother him…not with how many they had killed to get down here. And yet glancing at the inmates in their clean white uniforms, standing in lines like cattle ready for the slaughter…

He felt guilty.

“Now…” Hawke whispered as an opportunity came upon them, leaving no other chance to consider some alternative. The small number of guards that were on duty had all but turned their back to the door, too focused on escorting their wards onto the trucks. Taking advantage of that, Hawke and Fenris slipped into the large garage and moved to stand in line behind the solitary inmates, praying that their bloodied orange jump suits would go unnoticed for as long as needed.

His heart had been pounding up until that moment. Fenris didn’t even know if it was beating anymore, he could hardly focus on anything but the guards shifting just out of sight ahead, catching brief glimpses of them between the rows of white cloth and unmoving bodies.

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours. Standing still made him twitch, made him nervous. They were going to be discovered, and when they were…when they were…

He would do what he had to. Fenris told himself a hundred times over in his mind that he didn’t know these people. Didn’t know them and that he didn’t care to. For all he knew, they were barely alive. And suddenly, he remembered what Aveline had said when Hawke had asked if Anders was alive, and he felt sick with himself.

_“If you could call it living, then yes.”_

Gritting his teeth, Fenris ignored whatever nagging voice was echoing in his mind. Focus, focus…he had to, for Anders’ sake. For the sake of all those that were standing in those rows, heads down and silent in their own hearts and minds.

Hell broke loose the moment one of the guards turned around to gaze at the solitary inmates, only to catch sight of the briefest glimpse of orange within a sea of white. As soon as Hawke and Fenris heard the guard begin to cry out about their intrusion, they lifted the pistols they held and fired from their position, doing their best to aim between the inmates. As the gunfire sounded, the inmates standing in rows barely flinched, barely breathed in response to the blasts from the pistol barrels.

The wardens opened fire quickly in response, and several inmates in the front rows were mowed down. Both Fenris and Hawke felt a sick twisting in their stomach as they fell without so much as uttering a noise, merely releasing a soft breath that was drowned out by the gunfire.

A bullet passed through the skull of an inmate a little ahead of Fenris and burst out the backside of his head at an angle that, to Fenris’ fortune, avoided the elf entirely. The blood of the inmate splattered across the front of his chest and face in the process and the body fell like a discarded rag doll to the ground before him. He had no time to line up his shots carefully; he could only pray that it would end soon.

In the end, the human shield tactic gave them the much needed cover to save their bullets for when they could clearly see the wardens, and both Hawke and Fenris were able to pick off the last of those standing in their way.

It was silent for a long moment as the final guard lay dead and they each had a moment to breathe. Hawke’s hand shook as the pistol fell from his grasp and he released a shaking breath that was stifled quickly enough. Stepping over the body of an inmate that divided them, Hawke patted Fenris’ shoulder and told him to start looking for Anders.

Fenris could only nod. His stomach felt tight, as if it were shrinking inside him and devouring itself. He raised his head to look around those that remained standing. The pristine white uniform were stained with crimson spots and the blood of the fallen dripped down sickly skin. Fenris began to move between them as Hawke moved to the trucks, shoving the bodies of the wardens aside to check if Anders had already been loaded up.

The twisting feeling in his gut got worse as Fenris looked around. A terrible feeling of anxiety began to swim through his veins. He had not experienced such a sensation in many, many years. It frightened him. And he understood why when a blonde head of hair caught his eye and made him stop in his tracks.

As well as his stomach, his heart clenched tightly at the sight of a frail, thin body laying limp on the ground, blood pouring from several bullet holes that pierced their torso. His blonde hair was longer than Fenris remembered it to be, and it was wildly dishevelled and swept around his face and neck.

His feet carried him forward without his consent. He didn’t want to go over there. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. ‘ _Look away…_ ’ he told himself, ‘ _look away…!_ ’ But something else urged him on.

A feeling of regret, of fault.

Of sorrow.

He knelt beside the body, the knees of his jumpsuit turning red as the blood soaked the fabric, and he slowly extended a hand to reach out and touch the man’s face. He barely noticed the trembling of his fingertips as he touched the golden locks of hair, delicately moving them away from his face.

The trembling ceased almost immediately upon the realisation that it was not Anders. The face of the blonde haired man was not someone he knew, and he released a heavy sigh that emptied his lungs and made him raise a hand to his mouth to quiet himself.

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice boomed in the silent garage, although the man himself hadn’t intended to be so loud. Looking over his shoulder quickly, Fenris raised himself off his knees and quickly ran to where he had heard Hawke’s voice come from. The bearded man himself was leaning out of the back of a truck, the inside of it mostly empty save for two inmates in a white uniform. One of them was entirely unknown to them, the other…

Fenris had never been more relieved to see his face, and yet beyond that he could only feel a lingering sense of responsibility for the state he was in.

Climbing into the back of the truck, Fenris moved to kneel in front of Anders, staring up into dark and vacant eyes.

“Anders…” Fenris spoke his name softly, in a voice barely above a whisper. There was no response on his part. Anders merely sat there, leaned against the inside of the truck in his seat, staring through Fenris as if he didn’t exist.

“We need to get on the road…” Hawke said to the elf as he reached over and grabbed the second inmate from the truck and removed him. Hawke knew there was little enough they could do for Anders in that moment. They would not be able to help the other.

As Hawke busied himself in closing up the back of the truck with Fenris and Anders within before readying to drive them out of the garage, Fenris tried to rouse Anders in some way. The trembling of his hands returned as he shook Anders’ shoulder, quietly murmuring his name in a voice that was beginning to crack.

“C’mon Anders… _kaffas_ , say something Anders…!” He began to hiss the words in frustration, and he shook Anders’ shoulder harder as the engine of the truck roared into life and they began moving.

And suddenly, Fenris felt him jolt. At first he wasn’t sure if it was a simple movement spurred by the movement of the truck, but looking into his the void amber eyes, he saw them flicker, if only briefly. Fenris called his name once more, squeezed his shoulder and leaned close, hoping he would snap out of whatever trance he was in. He had to. He _had_ to.

Fenris watched his pale and cracked lips part, so close he was he could feel his breath. Anders’ gaze flicked again, as if spying something in the distant despite looking downwards, and his lips twitched again as he uttered a word that filled Fenris both with a sense of relief once more, and yet a silent, heart squeezing disappointment.

“Karl…”


	16. Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, gotta apologise for the lack of an update. I'm sorry for being an asshat and for not updating this as often as I should. I decided I absolutely had to update this before the year ended, and one of my goals for next year is to make sure to add chapters to this more frequently. While I have lost some interest in the DA series, I have no intention to abandon this story.
> 
> This chapter is sort of one that bridges the events of the previous chapters and leads into new ones, not a great deal happens but it chapter that progresses the story, and there's quite a bit of dialogue. Any who, if you're still reading this, I hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry once more for the lack of an update sooner!
> 
> Have a good new year everyone, and stay safe!

The alley was dark and quiet, far from prying eyes but close enough to the streets that they could hear the faint echoes of sirens wailing in the distances as police cruisers raced through the streets and the hum of helicopters flying overheard in the direction of the Tower. Isabela tapped her fingers against her arm impatiently as she leaned against the bonnet of the car she and Merrill had _acquired_ for the little escape run.

Varric had contacted them a little while ago, saying Hawke had made it out, and gave the girls directions on a rendezvous point they had agreed upon. Since they had arrived, every second of waiting for endless and exhaustive. Isabela felt like she was constantly looking over her shoulder, as if waiting to see a legion of officers standing behind the car. The worried look that Merrill was trying to hide didn’t help ease the tension either.

It felt like an eternity had gone by when they heard the sound of a truck approaching, followed by a sharp skid as the breaks were put on. Isabela jerked her head around to see the sight of a dark armoured truck pulling up behind them, and her hand immediately went to the pistol tucked in the back of her jeans until the driver’s door was hastily kicked open and Hawke all but threw himself out. The relief was intense and both she and Merrill moved around their getaway car as they approached.

“Hawke- creators, Hawke, are you bleeding?” Merrill’s worrisome nature kicked in immediately as she saw how bloodstained the jumpsuit Hawke wore was. Isabela wasn’t even certain if it was originally orange given how much red had soaked into the fibres.

“Relax, it’s not mine. Well, mostly.” Hawke said as he turned on his heel to go to the back of the truck as the latched doors were thrust open. “C’mon, we’ve got to get moving.”

Isabela and Merrill followed Hawke as he moved around the door that was carelessly swung aside, speaking to the occupant in the back – likely Fenris. They all but froze as they turned moved around the edge of the reinforced truck door, seeing Fenris holding up a corpse and gently lowering it into Hawke’s waiting arms.

“Is that…” Isabela couldn’t bring the words to life. She had seen him not that long ago, barely a month had passed, and yet Anders looked so utterly lifeless, pale and thin, and whatever exposed skin she could see was marred with dark bruises and noticeable track marks. Fenris gave her a stern look from the corner of his eye as he handed Anders to Hawke, who held him in his arms with ease.

“He’s _alive_ …” He growled the words, and yet something in his tone was hesitant, as if there was some lingering, dreadful feeling of uncertainty in those words he had been telling himself over and over again. He wasn’t truly angry in any way, at least not with her, but he didn’t want people thinking he was some husk of a human being. He was still there, if only a little. He just…

Fenris wasn’t even totally sure.

“He won’t be for much longer if we don’t get moving.” Hawke snapped the words as he adjusted Anders’ limp body in his arms. The words were more than enough to set everyone’s minds back on track.

“Varric send someone will take care of the truck, so that’s one less thing to worry about.” Merrill explained as they quickly moved back up the alleyway to the car that was waiting for them. Isabela quickly got into the driver’s seat, wasting no time in putting the car in gear as the engine had been left running. Merrill moved to get into the passenger’s seat as Hawke and Fenris carefully moved Anders into the back seat, sitting him upright between them and buckling him in, as he was certainly in no state to do so himself.

The drive to the safe house had been eerily silent, save for the occasional question by Merrill make sure neither Hawke nor Fenris were too badly injured while escaping. Isabela checked the rear view mirror far too often, staring at the vacant amber eyes that were unfocused and…empty. Simply empty. She could think of no other word to describe how he seemed to her now, when almost all her memories of him had involved an effortlessly cheeky smile and warm, welcoming eyes.

It took them just under an hour of driving through backstreet after backstreet to reach the safe house in the depths of the undercity. They parked around the back, where a hooded figure was waiting nearby, their face concealed to them as they got out of the car. Without a word, they passed Isabela and got into the driver’s seat when it was vacated, and once everyone was out of the car, the car was driven away and out of sight, no doubt to be dumped and torched in some remote location that wouldn’t be discovered for a good few weeks. If they were lucky.

They didn’t linger outside much longer, and as quickly and quietly as they could, they moved into the safe house, stopping only to unlock the electronic locks that kept the entrance locked. Varric was waiting for them in the entryway, the relief on his face when they entered was brief, but there.

“You made it.” He breathed out, as if disbelieving it himself, but his gaze was quickly drawn to the bloodstains on their clothes. “Shit.”

“We’re fine.” Hawke wasn’t sure how many times he had repeated those words. He looked over his shoulder towards Fenris, who was supporting all of Anders’ weight, keeping him upright as he lingered by the door with an impatient scowl on his face. They had more important things to worry about.

“We set up a room upstairs for him, go on.” Varric told Fenris quickly, who nodded to him before dragging Anders’ passed everyone and towards the stairs. “Daisy, you go to. See what you can do for Blondie…”

“I’ll try…” Everyone knew there was likely very little she could do for him, though that was no reason not to try. Fenris muttered his thanks to her as she helped support some of Anders’ weight as they took him up the stairs.

“We should get you cleaned up as well, Hawke.” Isabela turned to look at the bearded man, who hissed quietly as he touched the wound at his hip.

“Aveline’s going to be pissed…” Was all he said as Varric turned and led him down the narrow hallway to one of the back rooms.

“She’s resting, thankfully. You’ve got a little time to catch your breath before she starts scolding you.” Varric chuckled a little as he spoke, though the sound was forced and a little hollow of the usual humour he was so proud of.

In the backroom, Hawke stripped himself of the bloodstained jumpsuit in favour of a simply pants of joggers to wear, remaining shirtless so Isabela could tend to the injury at his waist while Merrill was occupied upstairs. He ground his teeth and winced as she cleaned the wound, and once done, busied himself with wiping away the blood that had dried on his chest. At the same time, he spoke of his escape to Varric, telling him every little detail he could remember. Varric was silent as he listened, drinking it all in and committing it to memory. A lot of it was useless information, but it was important to tell him. Halfway through his recount, a deeply troubled look came across Varric’s face, and while Hawke noticed, he continued to finish his account of what had transpired in the Tower before silence engulfed them once more. Varric closed his eyes, making a small humming noise as he tried to remember something he had buried in his memories, somewhere.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked, his brows furrowing in concern as he waited for Varric to speak.

“Aveline mentioned something similar a while back, when she was retrieving Anders’ files, she overheard Alrik talking about this…House, or…or whatever fucking creepy joint it is.” Varric shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the slicked back locks slightly.

“We need to know more about it. We need to know find out what the fuck’s going on already.” Hawke snapped the words in frustration, his knees bouncing slightly as he tried to keep himself still. “I’m tired of stumbling around in the dark with this bullshit.”

“Feels like we’re a few dozen steps behind, doesn’t it?” Varric said with a resigned sigh as he crossed the short space between him and Hawke, reaching out to rest his hand on his friend’s broad shoulder. “Don’t worry big guy. We’ll rip the carpet out from under that bastard Alrik and whoever else is involved in this crap.”

“Varric-”

“We. Will.” Varric repeated himself when Hawke tried to say something, his words firm, but hardly comforting. Hawke remained quiet for a while after, nodding his head slightly when he felt Varric squeezing his shoulder. When the sound of footsteps began to reach his ears, he turned to see Merrill and Fenris entering the room with Aveline’s large build not far behind them. She must have woken up when they went upstairs. She likely had pestered Fenris to change out of the bloody jumpsuit he wore, as he was now clad in a simple pair of slacks and a shirt.

“How is he?” Hawke lifted his head when the three of them entered, with Merrill standing not too far away from him, fiddling with her fingers and casting a wary look at Fenris as both he and Aveline moved to sit near Hawke.

“He’s…I don’t know.” She admitted truthfully, bowing her head as if apologising for not knowing more. “He needs proper medical treatment. I don’t think he’ll…”

Merrill couldn’t bring herself to say the words, her gaze downcast as she mumbled other things about his condition.

“We need to do something about this, and soon.” Fenris said as he leaned forward in his seat, his hands raised to cover his mouth and nose, as if in prayer. Hawke locked eyes with him and nodded eagerly in agreement.

“We’ve still got channels. Black market is ripe with medical supplies we can get our hands on.” Hawke began to say, but Aveline was quick to interject.

“That means nothing if it isn’t used by someone with proper training. He’s already in bad shape, if we tried to help him ourselves we’d likely only make things worse.”

“We can’t exactly drop him off at a hospital either.” Isabela murmured as she crossed her arms. She understood Aveline’s point, but there weren’t a great deal of options available to them.

Varric remained silent for the most part as he listened to the conversation drone on, all of his friends talking circles around one another as they argued and weighed the pros and cons of trying to doing something themselves to help Anders’ in the state he was in. A memory suddenly overtook his mind, drowning out the voices of his comrades as he diverted all his attention to it, the world becoming a mere haze with nothing but quiet, a conversation that had been forgotten in the rush of things.

‘ _I have something I would like you to pass onto my son, when the time comes._ ’

‘ _What is it?_ ’

‘ _Something left behind by a dear friend._ ’

Varric reached into the inner pocket of his coat, his fingers grazing the edge of a small rectangular box covered in plastic. He had hastily shoved it into his pocket after his meeting with Chancellor Justice when he had left to meet with Aveline at the other safe house. Pursing his lips, he took it out of his pocket, staring at it as the plastic caught the light of the bulb hanging from the ceiling while he twisted it in his hands. The plastic wrapping was crinkled somewhat, but intact. He hadn’t had the time to open it, not with everything going on. But now…now it was eating away at him, not because of what it might be, but because of who it had come from.

The Chancellor had given him the funds necessary to aid in Hawke’s escape from the Tower. He seemed more than a little aware of what their activities were, and had even said so himself. There was a gnawing feeling in the back of Varric’s mind as he stared at the box. How much did that sneaky old man know?

“Varric?” His head jerked up when Fenris called his name, and from the look on his face, it seemed the elf had been trying to get his attention for some time. The others were looking on him with concern as well. “What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know.” Varric said as he turned the box over in his hand. “The Chancellor gave this to me this morning, when everything went to hell.”

“The Chancellor? You mean Chancellor Justice?” Aveline raised a brow at the title, remembering it well.

“Yeah, he uh…let’s say he had a hand in helping us get what we needed done.” Varric was sparse on the details, mumbling that he would explain it properly later. His fingers traced the edge of the box, and with a heavy sigh, he dragged his nails over the plastic, cutting into it and ripping it away in pieces that were discarded on the ground. He lifted the lid off the box, noting the enclosed letter taped to the inner-lid, but his attention was drawn to the object that lay neatly within, lodged square in a casing that held it in place. A shadow loomed over him as the others crowded at his sides, peering at it as he did.

“What is it?” Fenris asked, his brows narrowing at the object that resembled a pen, though it was obviously different in some way. He hadn’t seen anything like it, in his limited experiences.

“It looks like an insulin pen.” Isabela thought aloud, the words sticking in Varric’s mind as he dipped his head, cursing to himself. The others gave him a curious glance when he did so. “What?”

“The old man…he said to give this to Anders.” Varric raised a hand to rub his forehead as he spoke, a headache beginning to form as he struggled to piece things together. “That son of a bitch…what the fuck is this supposed to mean?”

“If we give him that, do you think…?” Merrill spoke the words that were lodged in everyone’s throat. Well, almost everyone, as Fenris stood with a deep scowl forming on his face, more worried than the others were in that moment.

“Hold on, we don’t even know what that thing will do to him.” He barked the words, the worry in his voice not the least bit disguised. “What if it…”

“Kills him?” Aveline said the words when he didn’t, and he gave her a sharp look for it without meaning to.

“He has a point. For all we know, the damn thing might just put him out of his misery.” Hawke spoke harsh words that made Fenris flinch a little, and the glare in his eyes only grew colder.

“So, what? We wait for him to kick the bucket on his own while we stand here and argue about it?” Isabela’s voice was just as harsh, if not outright belligerent, in regards to their hesitation.

“Maybe we should wait until we can get a professional to look at him…” Hawke replied, his voice a little softer, but no less hesitant.

“Fuck that. You guys said it yourself, right? We haven’t been this close to having answers in years. I don’t know who the hell this old fart is, but do you really think he’d go out of his way to help us only to kill Anders?” Isabela asked incredulously, huffing and glaring at her friends, who stood dazed and settling into silence with their own thoughts.

“Well, it’s not impossible…” Hawke murmured, and rubbed his face with both hands, his words muffled by the act.

“No, not him.” Aveline stopped him from saying anything more. “The Chancellor is a good man. And he cares about Anders, I have a hard time believing he would do something that would intentionally put him in harm’s way.”

“So, where does that leave us?”

Varric spoke the question, but it was one that no one could answer without a moment or two to consider it. Fenris’ gaze fell upon the box and the needle-pen within, weighing the options in his mind. Aveline was convinced it would not harm him, and however hesitant he was, he did trust in her judgement. Even so, there was no telling how he might react to whatever chemicals it might put into his body.

A heavy silence fell over them as they each considered the options before them; give Anders’ the injection, and hope for the best, or wait until they could get someone with medical experience to look him over before they did anything rash.

Then again, almost every action that day had been rash, and impulsive, and dangerous beyond all reason. Why stop there? Despite his fears about what might happen, Fenris knew well enough that Anders’ wasn’t going to last long on his own. Whatever that injection might do…maybe, at the very least, it would give him a little more time.

Without a single word uttered, he reached and grabbed the box from Varric’s hand, who gave him a confused and concerned glance as Fenris removed the needle-pen and handed the box back to him. Turning his back, he began to make his way back down the hallway of the safe house and up the small flight of stairs that would take him to the second story, where the bedrooms were. He paused for a brief moment in front of the slightly ajar door leading into the room Anders was in, spying the blonde head of hair on the bed they had left him in. He had hoped, even if only a little, that Anders’ may have stirred in the time he had been downstairs, but he hadn’t.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pushed the door aside and entered the room, crossing the short distance between the doorway and the bedside. Anders lay on his side, staring at nothing at all. Merrill had insisted they prop him up on his side, just in case he vomited and choked on his own sick. Since neither of them could be certain about the state he was in, it had seemed a good idea.

Fenris’ gaze was drawn to the forearms that had been neatly crossed in front of Anders’ chest, the pale skin as it had been earlier – covered in bruises and the track marks of countless needles that had punctured the skin. He shifted to sit side him on the bed, gently taking one of his arms and twisting it slowly, looking for a vein he could use the needle pen on. He’d heard stories of how drug abuse damaged the veins and could poison the blood in severe cases. He uttered a silent prayer to any existing god that such was not the case for the blonde he had grown fond of.

It took him several long, endless moments of careful searching before he found a vein on the side on his left wrist. The left side of his arm was by far the least abused in terms of how many healing needle punctures he could see. He tapped the vein a few times before he pressed the tip of the needle-pen to his skin, twisting it slightly in his hand as he looked for a way to use it, and then resting his thumb on a small button he assumed would inject whatever substance lay within.

Fenris twisted his head slightly to look at Anders once more before he resigned himself to what he was about to do. Anders looked truly lifeless. He was there, breathing ever so slightly, and yet gone altogether. He could not think of any worse way to live.

With a shaking sigh, Fenris squeezed the button under his thumb, and his eyes narrowed when he heard the small click that came with it, a small bar on the side of the pen lowering that he assumed was the injector doing its work. He removed it from his wrist after a moment, laying his finger over the tiny puncture hole in place of a bandage he did not have, and remained by his side, hoping he had done the right thing.

For Anders’ sake, it was all he could do.


End file.
